#collab'oween

[letstalktea]

You are so small

Content: Eldritch!Jordan x Reader, implied Sydney x Reader, chastity belts, Word Count: 2.6k

It was supposed to be a quick job, if not easy. Find the key for yours and Sydney’s chastity belts that Jordan must have been hiding so you could remove them and finally do what you two had been craving for weeks. You were both at your wits end and Jordan was unconvinced to give you both the freedom you sought, so you offered to sneak into the back and find where he hid the key holding you hostage. It would be simple for a pickpocket of your caliber once the lights went out and everyone was tucked away for the night.

You were expecting to find a few baubles and trinkets from years ago stashed away where they had been forgotten and left to gather dust, maybe a habit or robe in some storage closet (since the church seemed to have so many) before finally finding whatever room or office Jordan used to hide his keys.

What you were not expecting was to find someone wandering around the backrooms of the church in the dead of night. And, to be fair, you didn’t find someone, but rather something. Something that stood in the shadows of the open door frame and turned to stare directly at you the moment you gasped in shock.

It wasn't one eye but many peering through you from within the darkness. It wasn't one voice but that of the unknowable universe echoing around you as it opened its massive maw. It wasn't one set of fangs that you were staring at, but an infinite row of razor-like teeth so grand they put mountains to shame, all reaching so far back into the giant void of its mouth that they faded away into nothingness. It wasn't saliva dripping from the roof of that cavernous mouth, but acid and bile that felt like it would melt you to nothing simply by beholding its majesty. It was the very walls surrounding you and the floor on which your feet stood. You were already being consumed by it.

You dared not move for fear the creature – whatever It was – would stir at the slightest twitch of your fingers or the beads of sweat falling along your brow. Instead, you simply stared unblinkingly at something you knew deep down that you were never supposed to even imagine existed.

It screeched something horrible, like a window being broken in the middle of the night when you're home alone. The sound wasn't a language, not even a simulacra of one, but an emotion so pure and ancient that you couldn't begin to think of the words to encapsulate it. It was fear and wonder and pain and devotion all knotted and twisted together; all burrowing into your head and tearing apart your mind until It made a spot for Itself.

You curled in on yourself, making your own body a shield against something you didn't understand or comprehend. But an incompetent shield could barely be said to protect the treasure held within. Your mind was flooded with beautifully terrible thoughts that tore you to shreds before putting you back together in all the wrong ways. And in that cacophony of disparate pieces shoddily stitched back together, you could feel its teeth digging into whatever it was that made you who you were and refusing to let go of the prey it had found.

“What are you doing?” A voice, one that was human and familiar to you, asked. “You aren’t allowed back here.”

You raised your head from under your arms, opening a single eye to peek at Jordan – without his cowl, hair braided down his back, and dressed in a long thick nightgown – looking at you with a mixture of disappointment and concern that you could only see by the grace of the candlelight in his hand. You quickly darted your head around in an attempt to find the creature that you had just beheld, but it was nowhere to be seen. The only things in that backroom, aside from a few old knick knacks and random crosses hung on the wall, were you and Jordan.

"I was just…" You couldn't think of an excuse, not when the image of that thing was still dancing like a shambling corpse in your head. "You saw that, didn't you?"

If you didn’t have an excuse, then changing the subject would have to do. Or, rather you needed to confirm that you hadn't just seen what your mind was refusing to believe.

"I saw you sneaking around where you shouldn't be." He sighed with a deep frown, but his eyes were pitious as they looked at you. "You must have gotten lost, because someone as godly as you wouldn't break the church's rules so flagrantly. Allow me to help you find your way." 

He held his hand out to you and you mindlessly took it so he could help you to your feet and pull you forward. His skin felt frigid, like walking on ice with bare feet, but you kept a hold of him because it felt like the only option you had.

The direction he led you was different than the one you'd come from, as if you were being brought deeper into the back.

You were about to ask him where he was leading you as he opened a door you didn’t recognize, but he spoke before you could process the thought. "You never answered me. What are you doing back here?"

"I was looking for something and got lost." A half-truth was the best bet in this case. 

"Oh? And what were you looking for?" 

His voice sounded strange as it chewed its way through your mind and ripped an answer out of you like a hungry predator. "I was trying to find the key for mine and Sydney’s belt."

Your hand shot up to cover your mouth, unsure why you had told him the truth.

He hummed as if processing what you said as he walked down the hall with you in tow. "You and Sydney? I would have expected more from you two. You're usually so devout.” He paused. “Although, Sydney has been acting rather strange since you two began to spend time with one another. I wonder why that is.”

You shrugged your shoulders, hoping he couldn’t see the guilt written across your face. It wasn’t your fault that Sydeney was so repressed that every tap of your fingers against his desk filled his head with lewd thoughts. It was your fault that you encouraged those lewd thoughts though.

“Don’t feel so embarrassed,” he said as he went through yet another door. “You’re both young. It’s natural to be curious. The important part is that you don’t give into those base urges so readily. That’s why you wear that belt; to protect you from yours and others moments of weakness.”

“Well, we asked about removing them…” You looked around as you walked and talked. It was strange that you hadn’t reached the front yet. In fact, it felt like you were venturing further into the building.

“That’s your rashness speaking.” He opened another door that led to a room that was nearly empty aside from a desk. There were no other entrances or exits, not even a window. Jordan only used his candlelight to guide his way toward the desk and opened it with a dispassionate face. From inside he retrieved a small key. “But if you are so desperate to be free, I suppose I could make an exception.”

He walked back over to you, holding out the key for you to take.

You nearly snatched it from him, but he stopped you by pulling it back.

“I would like you to hear me out first. Then you can decide if you really want to do this.”

You pursed your lips, but nodded. He had the very thing you were looking for after all, and he was offering it wholeheartedly. It wasn’t as if he could say anything to change your mind since you only joined the church for the allowance anyway.

“Your belt connects you to the church, the very faith. Removing it is a personal choice, but you will lose your connection to this place. Your purity will be at risk.”

Considering what you were planning to do with Sydney, you hoped your purity was at risk.

You shook your head. “I know what I’m giving up. I’m willing to take those risks.”

“I see. Then perhaps you are ready.” He grabbed your hand and dropped the key into your palm. Then he held the candle out to you and you, without thinking, took it from him.

It was almost shocking how easily he gave in.

Without warning, he dropped to his knees before you. He pulled your shorts down so that he could see your chastity belt latched carefully into place.

“Huh?” You gasped in shock.

“Sorry. I’m trying to help. You can’t keep the belt, after all, so you have to take it off now. If you’re uncomfortable, you can blow out the candle. That should allow you to keep some sense of shame.”

You would much rather he not be pulling down your clothing, but that was the kind of town this was. At least it was Jordan, who was seemingly so afraid of any amount of nudity that he usually covered himself from head to toe. Of all the people in this town, he was the one you were least afraid of.

It was still weird to have him looking at you though.

“Will you be okay without the lights?” You asked.

“Will you?” He replied.

Considering you broke in without them, you were sure you would be okay for long enough to take off the obtrusive belt that had quickly become the bane of your existence.

You blew out the candle.

As soon as the light was out, Jordan’s image blurred, splitting and refracting until thousands of copies of him filled your vision. And of those copies, each and every one glared at you. You were the sole target of his uncountable amount of eyes.

“Can you hear me? See me?” He asked with many voices and you shuddered. “Good.”

You felt something warm and sticky lap at the junction of your thigh where your skin met the metal of the belt. You shivered at the sensation even though it felt like lava.

"You're mine. Both of you," he whispered and your head swam with beautiful nightmares. "No one else may touch my flock but me. Not even you may have each other."

Your legs went weak at the sound of his voice, which filled the air around you and bounced off each wall until it found your ears and burrowed deep into your brain. Your mouth opened and closed as you tried to find the words to speak, but how did an insect speak to a god? You couldn't figure it out.

"You are both precious to me and your time will come, but don't rush. For now, you two are better when you long for one another but cannot touch the way I can." He ran his long tongue over the outside of your belt and it felt like your sex was on fire. "It makes you taste all the sweeter when you finally give over your devotion in exchange for release."

Even though he was on his knees before you, it felt like he was towering over you; it felt like he was smiling down at you with dripping fangs ready to chew you up and spit you out; like you were nothing before him.

"I'll ask again: what are you doing here?"

The part of you that was infected wriggled in joy so powerfully that it forced a smile onto your terrified face. "I came to commit a sin, but now I only wish to repent." You dropped the key from your hand, tears streaming down your cheeks as you spoke words that you didn't understand but felt were true. How could you not weep with joy when you'd just seem the face of God?

"Precious Child," Jordan – or the thing calling itself Jordan – said, "you are already forgiven."

He kissed the lock of your chastity belt and it felt like it was melting directly into your skin. It wasn't just a tool to keep away the town's lecherous perverts but a part of you – a part of him just as the church walls were. It was a divine edict given to you by your god.

“You and he have your parts to play. Do not rush ahead or try to break free. You will both be free to love each other as soon as you understand who you adore first and foremost.” He rose to his feet, pulling up your shorts as he did. All his terrible eyes and his granious voice burrowed into your muscles and tendons and joints. “Who do you love?”

“You.” The words felt natural as you spoke them. “Only you.”

He held your cheeks with tenderness as his fingers – if you could call them that – scraped across your eyes and brushed away your sight. Whatever holy abomination you had seen in him was quickly moved into your periphery – just out of sight enough to be out of mind, but still visible enough to make you jump when you thought you saw it moving.

The wobbly feeling in your legs finally became overpowering and threatened to drag you to the ground. Or, it would have if Jordan hadn’t been there to catch you.

Now all that was left was his smiling face, framed by specks of golden blonde hair and blue eyes that seemed to stare in your direction but not truly looking at you. His disingenuous smile made your heart flutter, as if it was meant only for you when you knew that it was simply a nicety that had become permanently etched into his face.

“You seem to be falling asleep on your feet. I’m not surprised given how late it is.” He helped steady you on your feet and turned you around to face the front door – when had you gotten here? – “It was wonderful to see you, but perhaps next time you should come during the day. I’d be happy to speak to you after you attend tomorrow’s – or, today’s – sermon. You will be there, won’t you?”

It felt like worms were crawling through your brain listening to him, but you couldn’t reject his request. It felt wrong to do anything but exactly what he wanted. “Of course I will.”

“Wonderful. I’ll be waiting for you. Maybe Sydney too?”

Alarm bells rang in the back of your mind, warning you that something was wrong with what he had said; telling you not to bring this up to Sydney; screaming at you to leave him out of whatever dark hole you had unknowingly found yourself stumbling into. But your rational mind couldn’t understand that misplaced fear.

“I’m sure he’d love to.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Jordan said. “I will see you then.”

“Yes. In the morning.”

As you began to walk away, through the darkness of the church hall, you swore you could see shadows shifting and twisting just out of the corner of your eye. But when you snapped your head toward the motion, all you could see was Jordan watching you head outside with a smile on his face because he knew you would be back.

You had no other choice – no other desire – anymore.

#h2ho #a cool drink of water #collab'oween #degrees of lewdity #jordan the pious

[undead-merman]

Collab'oween Announcement

From us to you this spooky season, we gather to celebrate all things horror and horny. @necros-writing-stuff @inkyquince @letstalktea @angrelysimpping and I have come together to bring you some prompts and short stories.

We hope you all enjoy this bundle of mischief brought to you by the moist corner.

Take Care - Stay Spooky

#moist corner madness #halloween prompt list #collab'oween

[necros-writing-stuff]

Sleep Paralysis: Collab'oween Day 1

GN!Reader/Male!Unspecified Creature.

Warnings: Rape/Non-con; Maybe feeings of claustrophobia and references to the ocean; Fear of death but no physical harm to reader; Utter helplessness; Cunnilingus/Analingus (you can read as either, I don't specify genitals for reader); Penetrative sex; Creature man has a prehensile pp; 3rd person POV.

Word Count: 2080.

Notes: I'm not doing all of the days, just the six prompts I wrote! Please make sure to check out all of us doing this together: @undead-merman @letstalktea @inkyquince @angrelysimpping Also big thanks to Merman for making the banner and divider and all of their wonderful work on this project.

It gets closer each night. They know as the sun fades, as their eyes shutter closed and the warm fingers of Hypnos keep their lids heavy that it's only a matter of time before the personification of sleep partially releases his hold on them and that reality will blend with their nightmares. 

For months it's happened every night. They awaken without control of their body, not even able to blink, as eyes watch from the darkest corner of their room. It's just a trick of the mind, they know this, but it doesn't make it any less terrifying. 

They'd gone to their doctor. Been referred to get a brain scan by a specialist to ensure it wasn't anything malicious causing the paralysis. All tests came back fine. They were sent home with pills and a regiment to follow. None of it had helped. The only time it ever left was when the dawn broke. Winter was on the horizon. Shorter days. Later dawns.

Then, they'd thought that it wouldn't be able to hide in the dark if there was no darkness. They'd filled their room with nightlights in every corner, left them on as they went to sleep, confident that they'd finally be able to get through the night. They hadn't. The creature cared not for the lights strewn about the room. It was a void of blackness, sucking in the light and refusing to let any stray ray out of its grasp. 

Fine then, it's sunlight it doesn't approve of. UV lamps were bought and installed. Their electricity bill would suffer, so they tried to stay away from electronics during the day to compensate. There was a pile of unread books just begging to be read, afterall. Yet, as night fell and sleep abandoned them once more, the creature remained in its corner. The blue hue of the UV lamps only made it more threatening. Cold, sterile. Dead. 

They couldn’t even sleep through the day. Something pulled at them, keeping them awake even as they lay with their eyes closed in their bed with the room made as dark as they could for the day. Only when the moon was out could they find a fraction of rest.

After months, they found themself getting used to the creature. It was a black blob with (admittedly creepy) eyes - no discernable features, no intent of ill-will it would seem. It just wanted to watch them through the night. 

It just had to move, didn't it? It had to reach a clawed hand it had never seemed to possess before out toward them, its frozen form a threat again for the first time in a long while. The skin (If it had skin) was a black as the void it made; it was hazy due to the smoke that rose from the flesh. The only part of it that continued to move. The smoke. 

Perhaps it was the home. The place they lived was haunted, wanting to torment the poor soul living within. With little money left due to the lamp expenses, they desperately pushed every new lamp into a large box and took it to a car-boot sale. They were all new, but half price anyway. They just needed enough for one night in a local hotel. Just one. To see if it would work. 

Each night that passed as they sold the lamps, the creature got closer. Like it knew. More limbs came out from the haze; the other clawed hand, long seemingly muscled legs, the torso unfurling and appearing to be as large as the rest of it. A beast. A tall beast that could rip someone apart just by strength alone. Still it's face remained shadowed, the smoke dripping down like hair.

Not every lamp was taken, but enough so over the weekend event that they had the money to stay in a hotel. A single bed, no TV, shitty water pressure in the shower. It was only on the first floor but the windows were painted just all the same. At least it smelled clean.

Hope sent them to sleep that night - a tentative hope that was on the verge of snapping as each second ticked by on the old clock on the wall. 

That hope snapped the second their eyes opened with the street lights sneaking through the curtains. It was here. Worst of all, it was closer than it had ever been. Crouched on the edge of the bed, tall frame leaning over so that it looked down at them with those bright white eyes. This close it was easy to see that there was no pupil. No iris. Just white. 

Tears welled that they could not blink away, blurring their vision and making the creature even harder to make it. Panic grasped them tightly, their heart hammering in a chest that refused to twitch. They needed to breathe more, to take in deep, filling breaths. But they could only take in standard breaths as their head began to swim. It felt like being suffocated. 

If they could scream, they would. Especially when it moved right in front of them. It never moved when they could see. Never. It was now. That elongated hand reaching down, a claw tracing the path of the tears as they fell down their face into their hairline. Some of the tears fell into their ears. It made them itchy. 

The creature didn't keep its attention to their face. Its claw wandered down their body, pulling the blanket with it as it exposed them to the cold air of the hotel room. Their pyjamas were lifted, their tummy exposed. Would it start there? Rip of their innards and eat them as they could do nothing to watch? 

Slowly, it pressed its hand flat to their skin. The warmth was a surprise. A creature of such darkness should emanate frost, but its flesh bordered on burning as it pressed down. Would it crush them? Would it contribute to the suffocation that felt it was taking hold? 

It would not. At least, it wouldn't yet. Every touch was gentle as it flipped them over, every adjustment it made of their body made for their comfort as their head was turned to the side so that they could breath with their body laying on their front. It didn't feel right. It shouldn't be so gentle. 

The tears from their left eye now fell over the bridge of their nose and into the eyeline of the other. It merged with the other falling tears as they wet the pillow. 

Beside from the ruffling of clothes and the creaking of the old mattress, the room had been silent. As had the creature. No neighbouring rooms made bangs or bumps in the night. A harsh ripping broke the silence. Their clothes. The creature was removing their clothes. Tearing it to shreds with its knife-like claws and discarding the fabric on the carpeted floor below. 

Goosebumps rippled over their skin as the night's air fell on it. The creature's flesh was the only warmth they could wish for - and they couldn't only wish that it would stop and leave them alone. 

It was a coward. Turning them over so that it didn't have to look in their wide eyes as it tore them apart from behind. Taking their clothes as a butcher would a pelt. Taking advantage of their sleep condition, or perhaps causing it itself so that they couldn't run or fight back. 

Such a strange thing, to feel anger after all of that fear. If creatures like this beast could wander the earth, then perhaps their anger would fuel their spirit enough to find a second life after death and seek vengeance on the wretched thing. 

Despite the feeling that they couldn't breathe, they did not pass out. They wished they would, that they could drift off into nothing before they would feel the beast's claws in their back. This mercy would not be for them. 

And neither would the claws. Not as the creature lowered itself, the bed shifting as its long legs came to sit on the floor and its hidden face lowered to the back of their thighs. 

A tongue, long and thick, teased up their thigh until sharp fangs nipped at the flesh of their ass. The tongue returned quickly, flickering as it found its way to their hole. 

More anger. More rage filling their heart as they desperately plead with their libs to just move. Just the littlest amount of movement - a twitch, anything! Nothing would come. 

It kept poking, prodding, lapping away at their exposed hole while disgusting pleasure whispered up their spine and choked their breaths. ‘Stop,’ they tried to beg. To scream it until their throat would bleed. But what was the use? They’d been begging for months and yet no one was listening. If there was a god or even multiple of them, they’d long since been forsaken to this demonic presence. 

There’s a strength to the beast. It lifts them as if it were nothing, their limp body folding as it hoists their hips up and presses it’s face even deeper into their core; that damned tongue flattening and giving a smooth, languid lick that has their eyes rolling back in their head. It should have stopped at this indignity. Why didn’t it just stop there?

It took its fill of their hole, still following with its tongue as it lowered their body back onto the mattress. As if it couldn’t bear to part with them. And sure enough, its stocky form rose over them again, that red-hot skin pressing to their back as something new wriggled and writhed against their saliva-dripping core. It meant to mount them.

One last push. One last demand for a finger to curl, to prove that they weren’t locked away inside of their own body. Underneath its body. A wall of flesh pressing down, closing in and taking away all of the air in the room as their anger slowly drained into sorrow.

That tentacle-like cock of the creature burrowed its way into them, spreading them open and penetrating deep. Strange guttural noises were snarled by their head, the beast having its pleasure while their tears returned. Every thrust of the hips was more like a roll, like a wave coming in toward the beach and retreating once more. It was graceful, powerful, threatening to take them away with it into the depths below. 

How could they swim against the tide without the ability to move? How could they possibly stop the water from encasing each and every part of them, leaving not a single inch of skin dry? 

Their mind refused to wander away, instead it focused on the smell of burning the creature emanated. It grasped onto every touch and grab the creature made at their skin. It couldn’t kick or scream anymore. Just like the body it inhabited. God, they were so tired.

Sweat gathered on their skin, the heat from their creature making it feel like a sauna in the cheap room. Sharp nips were given to their neck and shoulders, fanged teeth having a taste or maybe even marking what belonged to it. Its tongue came back to clean their cheeks of tears. 

Why did it have to feel so sweet? The slow build to the orgasms that hit in waves matching its hips pulling in and out. Its cock moved by itself while it would thrust, slowly undulating, causing their throat to seize from how intensely their nerves lit on fire for it. 

Almost. Almost they were freed from being there. It was exhausting being used so thoroughly, their eyelids were heavy and promised the sweet release of unconsciousness. It never came.

Who's to say how long it stayed on top of them that night. They couldn’t see the clock, couldn’t say when the beast woke them from peace. It stayed until the sun’s rays peaked through the cheap old curtains. But it left with a promise, a lingering hand on the back of their neck as it rose up, thumb rubbing over the freshest bite. It would be back. 

They still felt numb when control returned to their limbs. Felt numb for the rest of the day until night fell once more and that fear built. All they could focus on was the fact that the semen dripping from their hole never cooled in their frigid winter air seeping into the room.

#spill my guts #collaboween #cw terato #cw noncon #not dol #cw claustrophobia #cw thalassophobia #cw sleep paralysis #gn reader #necro's fics

[angrelysimpping]

Doppelganger in the Mirror: Collab'oween Day 2

GN!Reader/....somethin that looks like you uwu

Warnings: Dubcon; compulsion; you're making horror movie level decisions, I'm sorry; they look like you; bad end

The buzz of the overhead lights burn in your brain, somehow too loud as you stare, transfixed, into the bank of full length mirrors. Your reflection gazes back at you, and you can’t bring yourself to look away. 

It was a silly advertisement that had you in an abandoned building in the dead of night, one you wouldn’t have normally taken if it wasn’t for the reward: money. Plain and simple. Enough money to pay off your rent for the next month, maybe even two if you played your cards right. The flier had promised extra if you filmed your night, and you’d jumped at the chance, checking out a shitty go pro from the tech department of your university that you hadn’t even known existed until now.

As sketchy as the premise was, it seemed legit. The flier had been old, paper made soft by time and frayed around the edges. It’d been nearly buried on the bulletin board, obscured by other notices of upcoming classes and offers of tutoring. But the offer was high and the phone number attached still worked. A bland sounding woman had answered, one you couldn’t put a face to no matter how hard you tired, and told you what to do, about the bonus for filming and how to acquire the go pro now strapped to your chest. 

Now here you were, in the weird building. And…there was a room. A, well, normal room. A room that looked like it’d been just built, shiny and new, inside the near crumbling building. The hairs on the back of your neck prickled when you first saw it, the clean white walls nearly glowing in the filth of a neglected building left to rot. A strange anxiety settled in your bones, dread gnawing at your gut as you approached. Some part of you wanted to run, to forfeit any money you would have earned by staying in the building. Adrenaline raced up your spine as you got closer, almost compelled to enter the room, metal door knob strangely warm in your hand as it turned soundlessly. 

Silly, it was silly of you. Why had you acted like that? Nothing was wrong now, as you stood in the enclosed room. Maybe it was part of the study this group was running? You guessed it was. Why else would there an empty room set up in an otherwise empty and ignored building? An empty room with lights and…mirrors. Mirrors. Only mirrors. 

Your reflection gazed out at you, mimicking you as you slowly crept closer to the wall of mirrors. Something in the back of your brain reminded you of a trick to tell if a mirror was really a mirror or…well…not. Two way glass hanged in a mirror's place. But, that didn't make much sense either but, well, maybe? Why have two way glass? Why have a mirror, either? Why any of it?

None of it made sense. None of it. You shouldn't have answered the advertisement, shouldn't have gone to the building, shouldn't have opened the door to this weird ass room. Every cell in your body screamed at you to turn around, to leave.

You could leave. You could go back to your tiny apartment, cramped as it was, cluttered with books and papers. You could change into softer clothes and curl up under your blankets and sleep in a soft bed. You could figure out another way to earn some extra money, to keep your head above water as you juggled your school work and your job and your dwindling social life. 

Eyes bored unblinking into yours, your own eyes, your mirror image. 

You could leave. 

The overhead lights were bright, harsh, every speck of your face illuminated and reflected back at you. 

You should leave. 

It was a simple trick. Press your finger to the glass and see if there was a space between the image and reality. 

You wanted to leave. 

Simple and easy and quick. The room full of the buzzing light, head full of buzzing light. Mirror full. Was it a mirror? You needed to know. 

You needed to leave. 

Hesitating, your hand hovers, reflected back, so close yet not touching, a miniscule amount of space between skin and glass. 

Were there tears in your eyes? Your vision felt fuzzy but you can't tell why. Blinking it away didn't help. Your reflection mimicking the blinks back at you. 

You press your finger to the glass. 

Warmth. 

Warmth of a fingertip pressed to yours, of another body tumbling against you, taking you to the ground. 

It’s you. Your body on top of you, your hair and eyes and face. Your reflection. You, but not. There’s small differences, miniscule. A freckle where you could have sworn there was none, a brightness in the eyes that bore mania, a sharpness to the smile that made you shudder to have focused on you and to see on your own face. 

“Finally,” you- they sigh. It’s your voice too, made strange in the other’s mouth. There’s a second tone to it, like someone speaking in time with them, their voice almost hidden under your own. It’s soft, breathy. You want to hate it, hate the person on top of you pinning you to the ground and their voice, but you can’t find it in you. Something about them makes you crave more. More of their voice, more of their touch. 

But…you shouldn’t. You knew you shouldn’t. Something was wrong, very incredibly wrong. 

You try to move, to wiggle out from underneath them, but your limbs feel heavy, leaden. Even blinking becomes a monumental effort. Their body is heavy on top of yours but it shouldn't do this to you, shouldn't make breathing feel like it’s more effort than it’s worth.

“Oh, how long I’ve been waiting,” they groan, bending to nuzzle their, your, face into the side of your neck. “I don’t remember though, how does this work? Oh, wait.” Their lips brush over the tender skin of your neck, hands trailing down your sides, stopping at the waistband of your pants. “I think…”

Scorching hot hands slip under your clothes, pulling a gasp from you, body jerking of its own accord. 

“Don’t worry, don’t worry,” they coo, equally hot tongue trailing up the side of your throat. “It gets better, I promise.” 

It’s too hot, you almost think you can smell your flesh cooking but there’s no pain, only a mild discomfort. A building discomfort. A discomfort that was seated in the pit of your stomach, in the joint between your thighs. Thighs that blistering hands were currently groping.

“I’ll find out every little thing about you.” 

Their hand cups your groin and your brain goes blank. Hips jerking up without thought, you grind into their palm, pleasure washing over you, discomfort lessening. It’s euphoric, the way their fingers brush over you, a hand pinning your hip so you can’t keep mindlessly bucking into them as they laugh at your eagerness. 

“I’ll be the perfect you.” 

Their fingers travel down, prodding gently at your entrance. You tense at the unexpected feeling and, for a moment, you come back to yourself, try to shuffle back to no avail. Their fingers sink in with ease, curling and scissoring as your mouth drops open. A sound escapes you but you’re not even sure what it was. A groan of defeat? A moan of pleasure? A plea for a moment to think, to get your bearings, to stop? You don’t know, thoughts once again banished as their fingers hone in on a particular bundle of nerves inside you that made everything bright and brilliant. Like nothing you’d ever felt before, would never feel again. 

“No one will know, no one will ever know.”

The lights spin above you, their buzzing becoming louder, almost drawing out the figure above you. Nasua mixes in with the pleasure and you let your eyes close. Their breath fans over your neck, their words murmured in your ear, their fingers still working your body as if they know all its secrets. The hand on your hip slides up your side, pushing your shirt up as they seek more skin. They make a tutting sound as they seem to notice the go pro on your chest for the first time. It seems they care about the camera’s view, abandoning caressing your torso to instead cup your lower back, helping you arch into their touch as their fingers assault you. 

“All you have to do is let go, let me take care of everything.”

Something in their-your voice brings you back up from the fog of pleasure for a moment. Just enough time for fear to twist in the heat of your gut. Wrong. Everything is wrong and there’s something more to their words that you can’t even begin to puzzle out. Maybe if your head was clearer, if the lights were dimmer, if the buzzing stopped, if they stopped, you’d have a fighting chance to understand what was happening. You don’t, though. Not the faintest thought of a fighting chance. Your brain sinks back down into the fog and you do the only thing you can do: you let go.

You cum on your copy’s fingers, an almost inaudible sound escaping from the back of your throat. All the strength in your body seems to leave you as their fingers slip from your hole. If you could, you’re sure you’d be a puddle on the floor. As it is, you lay limp, boneless as they pull back. 

There’s a licking sound. Loud, almost obnoxious. Like they want you to hear them, as if they’re putting on a show. Licking your fluids from their hand. You don’t move, can’t even open your eyes. Everything feels light: your body, your head, your breath. All your attempts to move are in vain, to the point where you give up trying at all. 

Slowly, you start to feel more stable, more grounded. To the point you realize you’re standing. How did that happen? Did your reflection help you up at some point? Just how blissed out had you been? 

Opening your eyes almost hurts, but you do it anyway. You’d gotten this far, after all. 

You’re in the room, the all white room with its buzzing overhead lights. They don’t seem as loud now, not as bright. The first thing you see is the go pro, laying on the middle of the floor. Then, the person next to it. Eyes meet yours. Your eyes.

Your reflection, free from the mirror.

Moving is impossible, no matter how hard you try. It’s only as they give you a cheeky wave they move, your arm coping theirs. 

A scream bounces in your skull, trapped in your throat, as you realize you’re trapped on the wrong side of the glass.

#gn reader #collaboween #tw dubcon #cw dubcon

[undead-merman]

Day Eleven: Magic Ritual

GN Tav with Astarion

Contains blood, Me being a nerd about DnD and using real locations from the Sword's Coast.

It’s been years. You’d traveled without the sun on your body for over five years now, maybe six if you were paying attention to that kind of stuff. Astarion is sure to have the date if you asked him, he’s sentimental like that, or a bit bitter, depending on the day. You’ve been all over the swords coast by this point, made new allies, seen them come and go. Most of them left when they discovered his true nature but you never let them hurt him. One of them had to put down due to her violent reaction, Should have never let a Cleric come with. It’s been tiring, but you never gave up. You were determined as you searched for a way to allow him to walk into the sun’s glory once more and cure him of his undeath. All these years you’ve kept him safe. From the sun, down to the littlest kobold who so much as dare to make a job.

You had gone as far as The World’s Spine and over to the Sea of Fallen Stars. You then found yourself in a cave settled deep in the Wood of Sharp Teeth after braving Durlag's Tower. Traveled down into the depths of its basement, a hellish labyrinth, but it was finally in hand. A scroll of true resurrection. The weight exceeded that of mere parchment; it held Astarion's future. But hell’s you both were dead tired. You could have passed out for at least a tenday, perhaps even more. Your lover looked the same as well. Too tired to even comb the caked on gore from his hair. Both of you slouch as the campfire takes hold of the kindling.

You reach into your pack and start taking out the scroll. Its aged parchment felt fragile in your hands, and as you opened it to study the ciphers you heard a noise of protest.

“Darling, as excited as I am to finally have the damned thing, don’t you think it might be better to rest? Who knows what might happen. Why it might blow us both up in the process if your droopy eyed gaze reads a symbol wrong. As much as I do love your empty-headed stares.”

You give a tired laugh at his sass. “Of course I want to do it now. I don’t want you to wait a second longer. I want our next sunrise to be this one.” you couldn’t stop the smile from creeping onto your face.

His eyebrows knit together, making the lines on his face more prominent before melting away into a soft smile, one that you see so rarely yet one only reserved for you.

“As charming as that was, it’s still powerful magic. I’ve waited over two hundred years, I can wait a few more days.” The love of your life holds his arms open, inviting you in.

How could you say no?

-

It wasn’t a tenday, it was hardly a full rest before you had snuck out of Astarion’s arms and started reading over the scroll. It was a novel, each word must be spoken perfectly and without a single quiver of your voice. It would be a testament to your reading and acting skills if you managed to pull this off. You kept the fire burn as you went over every glyph and gesture in grueling detail. After nearly up the continent and back, traveling to find the damned thing. Not just that, rumor chasing, reading through old tomes to find such a spell to help, doing favors, slaying more monsters than you could count. So much work came down to this, of course you couldn’t sit still.

Your eyes had drifted over to his mediating form. He looked so peaceful. Everything, everything was for him. He'd know freedom once more, pure freedom.

You must have made a noise, his eye peeked open. Astarion’s face bore a miniature frown. “Darling what are you doing?”

“You thought I’d be able to sleep?”

“Well, I had certainly hoped so. Especially when I so graciously offered my arms as your own pillows.” he stood and approached with soft steps as his ivory palm touches your shoulder.

Your eyes went back to the cyphers, and he looked over your shoulder to see. You both sat in comfortable silence. He was listening to the sound of your breathing. His scent filled your nose, pleasant and not overwhelming, you’d miss it when it was gone. You had gotten used to the fragrance, you were going to miss the sight of that little bottle he carried in his front satchel. You’d grown fond of smelling it bright and early in the night as he would pluck it out and tap it against his neck, his stomach, wrist, wrist and legs.

You were on the eve of change, and it thrilled you, yet there was anxiety. So much would shift, so many things would branch and become new. You were sure Astarion felt it to a much more intense degree. You smiled, remembering asking him about Cazador and how he mouthed off.

“I won’t leave you.”

You hummed in question giving him your full attention. He had that old stress line over his forehead, he was being serious. “When I remove this curse, I won’t just leave you. I made a promise to be with you. I don’t intend to change that. As far as I’m concerned, we are together, for as long as you’ll have me.”

You pressed a gentle kiss to his nose, so soft that even a moth would not mind its caress. “Let us be forever then.” He tilted his head up and his lips met yours, they were as soft as the first time. Peck after peck, you both traded until they became deeper, his tongue delicately finds your lips but never breaches.

You peeled yourself away reluctantly, eyes focused on Astarion’s. Wet. Not enough to fall from his eyes, but enough to haven shown a gleam of his true emotions. You would have kissed them away if they had spilled out.

“Come on. Let’s get you back to your mortal self, shall we?” You proclaimed with a broad grin, extending your hand. With unwavering determination, he accepted. To be loved, it to be changed. And you are sure, without a doubt in your heart, Astraion was the most beloved person in this realm.

You will change together, evolve as one.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 astarion #dnd locations #real dnd lore cause im a fucking nerd #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #collab'oween

[letstalktea]

Death Won’t Do Us Part

Content: Harper x Reader, Avery x Reader, Reader is dead at the start of the fic and it does not get better, physical abuse, Reader and Avery are implied to be in a more serious relationship, mentions of brain damage

Word Count: 1.5k

This wasn’t you. This lifeless, immobile husk with clouding eyes staring blankly ahead and skin that was slowly losing color. These stiff, cooling hands weren’t the same ones Harper had so lovingly held, disguised behind an unsteady mask of professionalism, each time you walked into their office for a check-up.

Their swirling eyes looked up at the dark brown ones – so dark they were nearly black – staring down at them. “You should have called sooner.”

Avery looked none the worse for wear, even staring directly at your corpse lying in the bed of his guest room which he must have moved you to – or paid someone to move you to. “It took time to clean the mess they made.”

A mess? Rigor mortis was already setting in and Avery was calling your death a mess. Not even an accident. Just a mess.

“And how can I help you with this mess?” Harper hated using Avery's callous words to refer to you, but they also knew the extent of the man’s rage and how easily it could turn on anyone he thought couldn’t do anything to fight back against him. They’d taken care of your open wounds and broken bones plenty of times to know just how dangerous the man was behind closed doors and they weren’t willing to find out just how much lower on the totem pole Avery thought they were than himself.

“Fix it. Discreetly.”

That would have been easier if Avery had called them when you had first gotten hurt rather than waiting to cover his own ass. If they had gotten there sooner, been able to see you before the life had left your eyes and Avery had moved your body – and you had clearly been moved – Harper may have been able to stabilize you. Better yet, if Avery had brought you to the hospital rather than hiding your body away in the guest room, they likely could have given you proper treatment. As things stood now, however, bringing you back from beyond the grave would require a miracle.

They wanted answers, both because they wanted to know what Avery had done to you this time but also because they needed to know what it was they were being asked to fix. 

“How did this happen?”

Avery’s face twisted into anger, as if being questioned was in and of itself a taboo. Now that they had seen the expression for himself, Harper understood why you were always so secretive about your injuries even though it was obvious where they had come from. If that was the face you saw every time you stepped out of line or made even the smallest mistake, they could understand why you never dared to say anything that would risk your safety any further.

Harper wasn’t you though. They were just the person having to deal with the aftermath.

“The longer it takes me to figure out what happened to them, the more time they have to rot. Their eyes are already clouding over and their eyesight won’t be as good as it was. They may even have some leftover joint and mobility issues due to the chemical changes in their muscles. It would be more helpful if you happened to know how they hurt themselves.”

Avery was too put together to click his tongue, but Harper could sense that it was the exact reaction to display his displeasure with the situation.

“They tripped and hit their head on the corner of the bookcase.”

In other words, Avery had hit you hard enough that you fell and hit your head, and that had killed you.

They’d seen your blood many, many times. From collecting it in vials to patching up the less than savory injuries you’d come into the hospital with over the years. They’d seen you in all manners of state. Once, they’d even had to cut your forehead open to pick out shards of glass that had buried themselves deep beneath your skin. That day was awful for everyone involved. They swore to themselves that nothing could be worse than that day, especially after you started crying in fear that your face had been ruined and how angry Avery would be if the stitches left a scar after your wound healed.

Avery always made you bleed, it was just that this time the bleeding had been mostly inside your brain. They wouldn’t know if it was epidural or subdural without further testing, but the result was the same either way; death. Even if they managed to bring you back, a feat seeming more and more impossible by the second, you would have brain damage. 

If Avery would be upset by a scratch on your face, they couldn’t imagine his unadulterated rage when they told him that you wouldn’t be the same person when you came back. Avery wanted a trophy, not a partner. If you weren’t polished to his liking, he would throw you away and get another. 

But one person’s trash was another person’s treasure.

Avery wouldn’t want you if you didn’t live up to his ideals, but Harper would. They would always want you, no matter what you were like when you came back. If Avery would gladly let you go and leave you in their waiting hands, that would be fine. In fact, if the brain damage was bad enough, perhaps they could get you a permanent residency in the asylum, where they could keep a close eye on you everyday.

You would have no more injuries, no more late night emergencies, no more terrifying calls like this one. You would be perfectly safe in a room they would never allow you to leave because they could write that you weren’t capable of being on your own. You would only have to see them everyday. They wouldn't even allow the orderlies to see you. Even when they were away at the hospital, they wouldn't allow another person near you.

Harper tried not to smile because they knew it would give away their intentions.

“May I have a moment?” They asked Avery in the hopes that he would leave the room so they wouldn’t have to try and suppress their jubilation.

Avery didn’t move.

“This will be ghastly,” Harper said, trying to touch on Avery's sensitivities.

He seemed to think about it for a moment. “I expect results.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

“And if you can’t do anything?”

“Whether I can or can’t, you won’t find this issue when you come back.” Because, if they couldn’t fix you, they knew Avery was expecting them to get rid of the problem in a way that didn’t cause him any more trouble than he’d already gone through. That’s what it meant to be discreet.

Avery looked at them, then at you. 

If Harper didn’t know better, they would think the annoyance gave way to the smallest spark of sadness when his eyes landed on your placid face. But he didn’t earn the right to be sad about your current state.

Avery left the room, closing the door behind him.

As soon as it was just Harper and you, they smiled. They smiled so widely that their cheeks hurt and they had to hold back their laughter. 

They could whisk you away right now and Avery wouldn't question a thing. They could put you in your new – technically old – room and keep you close. Avery would never look for you at the asylum because he thought the place was beneath him. 

The only flaw in their plan was that you were very much still dead.

No.

You couldn't be dead.

The dead didn't come back to life. No matter how good of a doctor Harper was, that would remain true. You were simply playing at being dead because you were trying to get away from Avery. That was the only way this night could end in any way other than tragedy. 

Harper understood your plan without you telling them a thing and was happy to help you carry it out. They examined the spot where you'd hit your head and reasoned that it was merely bruised. The clouding of your eyes was a trick of the light and your stiff limbs were the result of your tiredness.

You were fine.

You had to be because, if you weren’t, there was nothing they could do.

But, because you were clearly fine – maybe a little roughed up due to Avery's heavy hand, but otherwise fine – they would have to whisk you away from this place. Avery already gave their tacit approval for you to vanish without a word or trace and Harper saw no reason not to take him up on his generous offer.

Harper would gladly keep you.

#h2ho #a cool drink of water #collab'oween #degrees of lewdity #harper the doctor #avery the businessperson #tw ab*se #tw death

[letstalktea]

Marionette

Content: Sano Kojima x Reader, dollification, insects

Word count: 0.6k

Note: My day. I hated my first fic so I scraped it last second. Wrote for my boy Sano instead. Had to write very quickly to publish before the day ended. Fuck me.

You sit, still as the dead, watching hundreds of little legs skitter by through the small plexiglass wall of the enclosure. The long, slick body of the centipede descends upon an unfortunate silverfish that is quickly and unceremoniously torn apart in the centipede’s mandibles piece by piece. That one is your favorite. You had nicknamed it and everything. Your lover thought the nickname was cute and let it keep the name. He named the other 16 centipedes that hatched personally. But this one? This one is yours, it lives alone in your room to avoid being eaten by its siblings, and you always watch it while waiting for your lover to return.

Your favorite arthropod finishes its hunt and quickly dashes below the decaying foliage within its enclosure. The end of its body still sticks out slightly and you stare lovingly at it. The poor thing is lucky that you take such good care of it, because it’s so careless that it would be eaten by a predator if it had been born wild. It is, in its own way, as weak as you are.

You place your forehead against the plexiglass and watch the quiet stillness of your beloved centipede.

After some time – how much you can’t say since you haven’t been watching the clock – you hear creaking from somewhere else in the house. The front door, perhaps? It may also be the door leading to the basement? You only know that the sound of the closing door is quickly followed by steady footsteps growing louder and louder as they come near. 

You shift your eyes toward the bedroom door, staring as it opens wide.

A smile spreads across your face as your lover steps into the room. The scar on his face and his dark hair covering a single eye being the most distinct difference between him and his brother. As soon as his one exposed eye locks on your welcoming smile, he speaks.

"You stayed there all day." Your lover Sano – what a wonderful title – states like a fact rather than a question.

"This is where you put me." You watch him stride over, trying to keep your focus on his face and nothing lower. "It would be wrong if I moved."

Sano gently grabs your hand, examining it with a neutral expression. He turns it over, flexing your wrist before kneeling down and moving to your knees to check those as well. When he doesn't find any issues with your joints, he kisses them.

The wood is cool against his lips.

You stare down at him and notice the white surrounding his faint grey iris shifts to a black so deep that it swallows all light in the room.

He is pleased. You can tell.

"Sano?" You roll your shoulder, trying to use what muscles you still have to move your wooden arm.

He notices your struggle and moves from kissing your ball joints to hooking his arm around your waist and under your knees. With little effort, he lifts you from your spot.

Your head lays naturally against his shoulder and the bulge in his pants presses comfortably against your hip. He really did love dolls. Or, maybe that reaction was reserved for his favorite doll; you.

You kiss the small patch of skin you can reach and nuzzle against him. With a cheeky tone you ask, "Are you going to play with your doll now?"

Sano's grin is small but telling. 

#h2ho #a cool drink of water #boyfriend to death #sano kojima #collab'oween #tw dollification

[letstalktea]

Mycorrhiza (Part 1)

Content: No ship (in part 1), copious amounts of alcohol consumption, accidental human sacrifice

Word Count: 1.8k

Note: I failed to finish this one before the posting date. Good thing it’s actually a combination of day 3 and day 17. So just hang tight for part 2 on the 17th (which is where all the sex will actually be). And while you’re here, check out @undead-merman @necros-writing-stuff @inkyquince @angrelysimpping. Not sure why you’d be here if you haven’t read their work already. 

The bonfire raged, cackling and crackling and snapping into the night air while you chugged another cheap beer that went down like water. The wind of the campsite brushed cool against your hot skin, tempering your nerves enough that you kept some sense of rationality. Not a lot, but enough to keep yourself from passing out next to an open fire and falling off the log where you currently sat.

You finished the last of your beer and tossed the bottle aside, wiping away any stray droplets that fell out of the corner of your mouth.

"Pass me another one," your words slurred as you spoke.

Your friend, who was just as drunk as you were at this point, reached into the cooler beside him and pulled out an unopened bottle to toss to you. Unfortunately, they were drunk enough to completely whiff it and toss the beer straight past you, into the bushes just past the clearing where you sat.

"Fuck, man. What was that?" 

"Iunno." They burped and tossed back the beer in their hand. "Ya want it or not?"

Beer was beer, so of course you wanted it. You paid good money for it. It was yours.

You groaned at your aching muscles as you leaned all of your weight against your knees and rose to your full height, stretching your back and feeling something along your spine you hadn't known was misaligned pop back into place. Sitting so low to the ground had a way of making you feel twenty years older than you were, especially when you got up. It didn't help that you couldn't feel your legs or ass properly after sitting on the log for so long.

After you waded through the pain of blood rushing back into your legs and the pins and needles that came with it, you finally bothered to walk toward the surrounding bushes. 

In your inebriated state, you didn’t consider the risk of wild animals or toxic plants. All you cared about was the beer that had gotten away from you and it was out of the firelight and past the ominous bushes so high they could easily hide a serial killer. Maybe you would tell your friend a story to freak them out about the foliage after you raised your blood alcohol content a little higher. 

You brushed aside the bushes, wincing when one of the branches scratched you, but not deterred from your mission.

Nature was beautiful. Even drunk out of your skull, you could appreciate it for what it was. Flowers and sparkling insects and the glittering sky and all the animals that wouldn’t fuck you up. It was all so beautiful, which is why it was the most fun to drink out away from the city. That’s why you were going to enjoy all your beer while you could; because you deserved to enjoy pretty sights while you were having a good time.

But what you found past the bushes made you pause. It was still nature – still part of the campsite – but it looked out of place. It was a clearing right next to your own, perfect for another tent or even one of those massive campers. Yet no one had claimed it. You knew for a fact that the campsite was full (because you had a rough time finding your own spot) so the fact that there was a massive plot of unclaimed land was weird.

When you looked out at it though, you could almost understand why. It was really pretty in an ethereal sort of way. Grass as far as the eye could see and not a working fire pit in sight. The grass looked lush and fresh, but it was the only thing growing throughout the entire clearing. Well, the only thing aside from some weird looking mushrooms that bloomed in freaky colors; reds, blues, greens, purples, oranges, browns; a rainbow of fungus.

But it wasn’t just the colors that were freaky. It was the way they grew in a perfect circle that captivated you.

"Holy shit,” you muttered to yourself. 

You had to show this to your friend.

“Dude!" you shouted over the wind blowing through the trees. "You gotta come see this!"

In the nearby distance, you could hear the same bushes you'd wandered through rustling as your friend pushed their way through. 

"What is it?" they asked as they swatted at the bushes and stepped through the branches and leaves with minor scratches on their exposed skin, the skin that they wouldn’t even notice unless they looked directly at them and even then would wonder where they had come from.

You pointed to the strange circle of mushrooms that seemed to grow separately from everything around it. “Take a look at that.”

They squinted their eyes to see what you were pointing at in the darkness. When they finally made it out, they started laughing. “That’s a- a- a- fairy thing. A- ring! That’s a fairy ring!”

"A what?"

"It's a fancy name for circles of mushrooms. People used to think they were cursed or something. If you messed with them or stepped into one, the fairies would get pissed and make your life hell."

"Seriously?" You chuffed.

"Seriously." Your friend laughed purely from drunkenness rather than actual amusement. "It's not like they had science back then. Everything was magical bullshit."

"Huh…" A devious thought entered your head. "Wanna see how right they were?"

"What?" They kept laughing, but this time in disbelief. "You planning to phone a fairy and ask what kind of nasty curses they got up their sleeve?"

"Sorta like that."

You grabbed them by the arm and pulled them forward, giggling like an idiot as they stumbled forward. They fell off center and went tumbling toward the ground just as you managed to toss them into the circle.

As soon as they crashed onto their hands and knees, you started to speak in a voice that was as deep and booming as you could manage, attempting to copy the shitty B-movies you'd seen over the years. "Oh, great fairies! I make this offering to you in exchange for hella ass and dicks so fat they'll throw out my back and break my jaw. And I would appreciate if you threw in cuddles after."

You both waited in silence.

When nothing happened, your friend rose to their feet and dusted themselves off. "You're such an ass."

"Awww," you condescended. "Were you afraid the big bad fairies would get you?"

"Nah," they squatted down in that perfect way that warned you they were planning to take off I to a sprint, "but you should be afraid of when I get ahold of you."

They launched upward toward you before you could react, but instead of getting closer and potentially grabbing you in a headlock they way you knew they usually would, they seemed to take a single step forward and then stop.

They looked down at their foot, then their expression twisted into confusion. You followed their gaze and saw why. The force of their step had somehow been enough to sink their shoe partway into the grassy circle. It was similar to how wet sand would grab onto your foot at the beach.

"Oh, shit. You okay?" you asked, sobering up very quickly after seeing their predicament.

"Yeah. I just… didn't expect that. Guess this spot must get a lot of water or something and make it all soft."

They tried to yank their leg upward to no avail. If anything, their shoe seemed to sink deeper into the grass.

"Dude, take it off," you told them.

"No way. These are the only pair I brought. I'm not staying out here barefoot."

"We can pack up early and go home. It's not good to be out here anyway if the ground's this loose."

They clicked their tongue. "Fine, but you're buying 'em since you pushed me in here." They slipped their foot out of the shoe, grumbling as they did so.

You rolled your eyes and turned your back on them to head back through the bushes to where you'd left your belongings. "Don't be a baby. Shit happens."

"Yeah, shit like you being an a- WHAT THE FUCK!"

You whipped your head around, jaw going agape the moment you saw what had caught them off guard.

Their shoe still sat where they had left it half in the grass, but the ground was now devouring their leg. Not their foot. Their leg. All the way up to their knee, their leg had sunken into the ground.

"What the fuck!?!?" You yelled the same way they just had.

"I don't know! It felt like something grabbed me." They were starting to hyperventilate. "Help me out before I sink deeper."

"Y- yeah," you stammer before stepping inside the ring of mushrooms to help them.

They reached their hand out to you and you grabbed onto their wrist for leverage to pull them out of the spot they were sinking into. You dug your heels into the ground and pulled as hard as you could. Even as you pulled, they kept sinking deeper. Before you knew it, their other leg had begun to fall into the earth as well.

“Something’s got me. It’s pulling me down.”

“Stop panicking,” you shouted hypocritically. “There’s nothing down there!”

But, it was strange. No matter how hard you pulled, they seemed to keep getting deeper. So deep that only their upper torso was still visible at this point. You though? You seemed to be standing above ground just fine. In fact, it was as if the sinkhole was only opening up below them.

They were gripping onto your wrist so tightly that their nails dug into your skin and started to draw blood. Even then, they were still going downward. Your back ached as it arched, bending as they dragged you down with them.

Their eyes were blown wide, in terror or realization that they weren’t going to see the sunrise you weren’t sure. “HELP!” They screamed one last time as the earth swallowed their head and left only their outstretched arm, the one you were holding onto, above ground.

You knew you couldn’t pull them out anymore. You knew that, but you couldn’t let them go. Letting go was like giving up on them and, even though it was clear you should, you didn’t want to.

So you kept letting them drag you down.

Down. Down. Down. One agonizing second at a time, you watched as the last of them vanished beneath the dirt and knew that you would soon be swallowed up too. Fight or Flight often forgot their sister Freeze and that bitch was the one catching your gaze right now. Your chest heaved as your fingers neared the ground, ready to finally meet the beginning of your own muddy grave.

The second your fingers touched the ground, however, all you felt was solid earth. 

There was no give to the dirt. No muddy texture or damp patches. There wasn’t even a hole in the ground or a break in the grass, even though you had just seen your friend get pulled down into it. 

There was simply nothing.

Next

#h2ho #a cool drink of water #collab'oween #tw alcohol

[letstalktea]

Married at Sea

Content: Fem!Harpy x Reader, abductions, mentions of rape, hallucinations, oral sex, implied death Word Count: 1.1k

"Do these men respect you as they should? Or are you only a hapless prisoner in their arrogant eyes?" A voice calls from beyond the waves licking against the side of the ship. "Don't you desire more than to simply be the prize earned for razing your home and people to the ground?"

You sit up from the hard wooden floor, the thin fabric of your gown – an inadequate barrier to block the damp, frigid sea air from seeping deep into your bones – falling back into place from where it had been bunched up after the last of your captors had come to visit you for a nightly trist.

The voice from beyond continues, "Come. I shall show you freedom." 

It feels like a dream as you rise to your bare feet, the grain of the wood scratching along your soles as you stagger toward the stairs leading toward the main deck. The hatch separating you from the fresh air of the deck is weighed down as you try to push up on it; likely to keep you exactly where you are.

The small foreign spark of longing within you flickers for a brief moment before fading as your senses begin to clear and you wonder what you are trying to do. To rebel is to be hit and whipped. To wish for more is to be disappointed. To remember your home is to have to acknowledge all that has been stolen from you.

"I can end your hurt and repay your captors in kind," the voice sings.

The daze in your mind begins to crescendo once again, but this time you feel as if it isn't just the voice speaking hollow words, but weaving promises.

"Shall I show you desire beyond imagining? That which you long for most?" The voice whispers directly into your ear and you feel as if you are suddenly somewhere else entirely while also somehow being nowhere at all. 

You are laid bare in the nothingness, naked as the day you were born and completely open to some other power coiling itself around you. Warm fingertips, calloused and rough, rake down your midsection until they are dipping between your legs as something long, wet, and hungry gingerly licks up the side of your neck.

It isn't the same as when those men touch you. Their grip is possessive, commanding, and forceful. The way these hands caress you is far more gentle, more tender than even your fantasies.

"What a beautiful creature you are." The voice continues to sing, but this time it is coming from right in front of you and spoken by a figure slowly fading into existence.

Whatever she is, she isn't human. She is humanoid in shape, but where there should be skin there are only feathers. Her legs are distinctly avion in that they bend the wrong way at the knee and end in sharp talons. Her hands are the only thing familiar about her forelimbs, as everything past her wrist evolves into wings. But the most haunting aspect is the way her yellow sclera glow even in the darkness of wherever your mind has wandered.

"Beautiful creature, won't you let me embrace you?"

She is a monster. You can see that clearly even through the fog in your head, but – as she trails her lips down your chest and stops to kiss your stomach while her rough fingers continue to rub between your legs – you don't mind. Even as a monster, she is the least monstrous of all the people who have touched your body as of late. She is certainly the only one that cared to ask you for permission rather than acting entitled to it.

Without giving her a verbal answer, as if she heard your very thoughts longing for her, she finishes kissing her way down between your legs. Her tongue laps at your sex as her hands move to explore the rest of your body. 

There's something comforting in the way she touches you. In another life, you would have liked to take a lover like her, to be held and adored in the bed you may have shared. If given the chance you would still like that. The thought of it, how gentle and loving she is even with such a fearsome appearance, makes you wonder if she is the answer to prayer you'd stopped voicing the moment you had been taken from your bed and onto this ship. It sparks the flames of desire in you anew.

Her mouth retreats from your body just as quickly as it had latched onto it. You stare at her smiling face, full of teeth so sharp that the mere sight of them feels like they are cutting you to pieces. "Follow my voice and you shall have this and your escape. I eagerly await you."

You want to reach out for her, to tell her to stay by your side if even for a moment longer, but she is quickly gone. Even her song sounds far away through the wood of the ship keeping you from her.

You have to find her.

You stare up at the hatch keeping you locked below deck and curse it. You curse it so vehemently that the gods must shudder at your rage. You curse it so thoroughly for keeping you barred that you barely feel the first whinge of pain as you smack your shoulder against it. The second time you smash yourself into the hatch, you ignore the pain. The third time, your shoulder has gone numb and the pain means nothing anymore. It all means nothing as you try to break yourself free. 

By the time the hatch finally came off its hinges, your shoulder had turned black from bruises. But you didn’t care. All that mattered was that you were finally out of the ship’s hull and could walk barefooted across the deck.

The wood felt wet and sticky below your feet, like walking through syrup. All you could focus on, however, was the quiet of the night broken only by the song calling out to you from the distant rocky shore. The men who had captured you laid limp and immobile on the deck floor, but none stirred as you walked past them toward the wheel of the ship.

“You’ve done so well, Beautiful,” the melodic voice hummed in your ear. It felt like that avian woman grabbed your hands and placed them against the ship wheel even though she was nowhere to be seen. “Now come to me and be free.”

With no experience but drive buzzing at the back of your skull, you smiled and jerked the wheel to the side to turn the ship toward the rocky cliffs from where the voice came.

#h2ho #a cool drink of water #collab'oween #tw noncon #tw hallucinations #tw death #talking oc

[letstalktea]

The Hunt

Content: Black Wolf x Reader, Black Wolf uses it/its/she/her, Black Wolf shifts between wolf and humanoid, Reader is implied not to be quite human, absolutely zero smut, blood

Word Count: 1.4k

There were tales they grew up on. Tales of the wind loudly calling out through the forest before shadows chased unsuspecting lost souls through the thick trees, running them in circles until they could no longer tell in what direction the sun would rise. They were only tales, the kind parents told children to keep them from wandering out into the dark winter nights back when the only sources of heat were thick blankets and the hearth.

They were an adult though. They knew better than to believe in boogeymen under the bed or strange creatures draining the local sheep of all their blood or the wild hunt chasing down random civilians. They lived in a world where fairytales were simply beautiful nostalgic stories and folktales were something to laugh at when they thought of how people long ago could possibly ever believe in them. They weren't real. They weren't supposed to be real. But, as they ran through the ankle deep snow and felt hidden rocks cutting their bare feet, they realized that they were very, very real and that they were now a part of those tales.

Their feet burned from a mixture of the frozen air, snow, and blood rushing through their legs. Their night clothing offered little protection from the frigid air or the frozen twigs and branches that scratched their skin as they ran by. From behind, never far enough to give them the illusion of safety, the sound of crunching snow and gnashing teeth echoed through the air.

The chase was there, but unseen. Their prey constantly on edge in a way you were all too familiar with, for once upon a time that had been you. The frantic pace at which they fled only encouraged the chase further. For the spirits of the hunt, this was a game before the feast. And as the prey they were chasing stumbled and fell into the unforgiving winter snow, you knew the game was coming to an end.

The pack inched closer, encircling the fallen. Maws bared wide, hungrily dripping as many eyes stared directly at them in anticipation for the final kill. The snow beneath them slowly melted one flake at a time and seeped into their clothing. Their feet were black with what was undoubtedly frostbite and they ached too much to stand back up. The chase was over. They had been caught and they would be the hunt’s spoils.

But not without one last strike against the entourage. 

They raised the branch they picked up somewhere along the way in their unsteady hands, swinging the jagged edge outward toward the crowd falling in around them and threatening to gouge out the eyes of any that got too close. They would rather die to the cold slowly stealing away their breath than the unfeeling fangs of the wolves snarling for their blood.

“Shh,” your command carried over the pack like a gale force wind.

Each one silenced itself before dropping its head in reverence and slowly backing away from the injured prey before them as you stepped forward. Furs draped you from head to toe, blocking out the chill that was clearly seeping into their bones. Your warm breath danced in the air like fairies across flower petals, spiraling toward the sky as you stared down at the defiantly fearful eyes before you. 

You smiled.

Then, as if they all shared a single mind, each wolf pounced forward. One rushed for the branch, grabbing it between their teeth and yanking it back harshly enough to pull their prey in one direction. As they grabbed the branch, another sank their teeth into the flesh of their ankles. Another went for their ribcage. Another their neck. So many descended upon them that they vanished in a flurry of fur and teeth. You could only suspect the outcome of their violence from the way the perfect white snow turned red beneath their paws.

Each of them, those that still needed the flesh of others to live, tore at the meat until all that was left was offal and scraps of fabric. The others, those under your purview, sat and watched the carnage with wagging tails and delightful barking. For them, this was merely play.

But those were only your wolves. The others had their own leader; one who knew to pay their due.

A wolf, the largest one that was more a horse than a canine, with fur so black that it vanished into the night, strode forward across the bloody snow. In its mouth was the heart of the prey it had just slain, warm and dripping. Each step it took was ethereal, making no sound against the crunching snow and leaving no prints in its wake; a gift you gave it some years ago on a whim. All for the best, as each step it took toward you saw it changing forms. It would have been quite a shock to whatever poor, hapless human found the distinctive four paw marks of a wolf slowly became two, then transformed into something that appeared to be similar to human feet; another gift.

Not for you though.

You simply stood there and smiled up at the woman who stopped in front of you. Her black hair was wild and unkempt, running all the way to her waist. Her hands and feet were human in shape, but covered in fur, with padded fingers and toes, and bearing sharp claws. Her skin was marred with countless scars from many a previous hunt. Her normally alert eyes that darted from place to place were focused solely on you. And, still, in her teeth she held the heart.

You held out your hands, cupped and waiting.

She dropped the heart into your outstretched hands, a smearing of red around her lips the only proof that it had been there at all. Then, she waited and watched. You brought the heart, tough and warm, to your mouth and sunk your teeth into it like one would an apple. The lump you had bitten off went down smoothly before you held the rest of the muscle out for her again.

She bent her knees, like a dog when you ordered it to sit, and leaned forward to take her own chunk of the heart. It was much larger than yours, nearly three times as large and deeper.

It was, in a sense, a form of camaraderie, but, more importantly, it was an expression of love. Her massive bite next to yours, the life of her sacrifice resting comfortably in both of your stomachs, the act of sharing food which was so rare and precious in the cold months; it was all an act of love from her to you.

And your thanks for her affections would be a kindly winter. No less harsh, but more affectionate; winter winds that blew away from her cave's face, snow that melted to expose hidden burrows, flurries that covered the tracks that led back to their home. You would not stop the chill nor could you prevent some of them from succumbing to the elements of nature, but you would show her and her pack favor.

"Until next we meet," you said as you stood atop your toes and pressed your lips against her gore smeared ones. You could taste the iron and death in her breath, the sticky wet bile on her tongue.

You pulled away and whistled. The wolves that had come under your command perked their ears and came bounding over, their paws making no indent in the snow. Slowly, as they came closer, they dropped their facade of being canines and returned to their true form as the winter breeze.

You whispered to the winds, hoping they had their fun with their old friends and family but telling them that this year, once again, would be one where they couldn't play outside your planned dates. The wind blew gently around you in sorrow and understanding. After all, they had once feared the chill as well. It was fine. Their loved ones would join them when it was time.

You held the heart affectionately as you turned away from her. "I hope we may hunt together again next year, and not a minute sooner."

#h2ho #a cool drink of water #collab'oween #degrees of lewdity #black wolf the alpha #dol black wolf

[letstalktea]

Mycorrhiza (Part 2)

Content: Myconid x Reader, Reader has a dick (or tdick, it's not specified) but no mentioned gender, noncon, multiple partners (sort of), anal sex

Word Count: 2.5k

Previous

You could feel your fingers burning as you began to claw at the dirt, scratching away at the grass and soil until it was caked under your nails. But no matter how much you dug, you didn’t seem to get any deeper. The ground was too hard and solid for you to do anything but fruitlessly fail.

Your friend was gone and you could only kneel on the ground and stare at the spot where they vanished. There was no way to explain what happened to the authorities or their family. If you were lucky, they'd be filed as a missing person and people would be sympathetic to your friend suddenly missing when you'd been together just moments earlier. More likely, however, was that you'd be a suspect in their disappearance. They'd use your drunkenness against you and say something asinine about you getting in a fight. They'd claim you killed them and hid the body. You could already see the court drama unfolding before you. Even if you were found not guilty, more people than not would suspect you.

The thoughts kept coming in, only interrupted by a faint rumbling starting beneath your knees. The vibrations below broke your delusions of an unknown, Hollywood-inspired future and shifted your focus back to the ground.

It rumbled and grumbled, until it split at the seams and an arm reached out of the very hole you'd failed to dig. The hand pressed against the ground and dragged an entire body out behind it. Bent knees straightened out so it could stand at full height.

From the hole emerged a creature, humanoid in shape but with no face as it towered over you. It was tall – about two heads taller than you if you had been standing upright – stiff, lanky, the color of beach sand stained with freshly dropped slushies, and lined with squishy jagged edges that reminded you of a piñata's trim if the paper was rigid and unyielding. Its head, or at least the thing that looked like it could be its head, had flat, bulbous growths sticking out of it at uneven angles and asymmetrical lines. Its arms were too long, reaching past its thighs.

You froze in shock as it mindlessly stood in place, not reacting in the least to your presence. If not for the fact that you had seen it crawl out of the ground with your own two eyes not less than a minute ago, you would have suspected it to be a statue. 

You held your breath, waiting anxiously to see what the creature did now that it had pulled itself free of the Earth's embrace. When it didn't move in one way or another, you tested your luck and slowly moved your hand back. It continued to stand in place, so you moved your knee back next. One limb at a time, crawling backwards as you kept your eyes locked on it to ensure you didn't catch its attention.

If you could get through the bushes, you could hide. You could run. You could escape. You didn't have to be this thing's second victim tonight. Maybe, just maybe, if you could get away you could even get help to kill this thing and look for your friend – or, their corpse – later. If anyone believed you, that is.

One agonizing moment after the other, you scuttled further and further away from the creature.

Until you moved your leg back and felt it catch on something. No, not catch. Catch would imply you had hit something and could free yourself with some effort. What stopped you was less of a catch and more of a grab.

You could hear your heartbeat ringing in your ears, taste the sweat dripping down your face and past your lips, and feel the heat searing your nerves just behind your eyes. Slowly, with labored breaths the entire time as you tried not to panic and alert the creature, you turned your head to look behind you.

You could see the bushes. Their leaves swayed gently in the breeze and the fire just behind them gave them a spectral glow. They were bountiful and vibrant, filled with young berries that animals would gladly pick off once they were ripened. They were the boarded that promised you safety.

But they were beyond your reach.

Instead of their protective embrace, your eyes traveled downward toward your caught leg. Wrapped around your ankle, at the ring of mushroom's edge, was an eggshell white hand with yellow painted fingers reaching out of the ground.

To keep from screaming, something you very much wanted to do, you covered your mouth with one of your hands. The other burned from being forced to hold up the entirety of your weight as you lashed out your free leg to try and kick at the inhuman hand holding you.

It was soft and giving to your strikes on the outside, but the layer just beneath the surface was tough and sounded hollow. It didn't appear to react to your kicks in the least, seemingly unbothered by your feeble attempts to free yourself.

Rather than the hand giving in and setting you free, it was you who finally gave in and screamed the moment another hand burst from the circle's edge and grabbed at your other foot to hold it in place. 

Hands burst forth from the ground and clawed at each of your limbs to hold you in place; your ankles, calves, wrists, forearms, one even grabbed at the fabric of your shirt and pants so fiercely that it tore your clothing to shreds, leaving you naked under the pale light if the stars and moon.

"H- HELP!" you screamed out into the night air, desperately seeking any aid you possibly could.

But you already knew that no one could hear you, let alone come to your rescue. Even if they could, there was realistically nothing they could do aside from stare. It made you aware of one terrible truth: you were going to die here.

That's why, when you heard the soft sound of fresh grass being crushed beneath the creature's feet as it walked closer, you could only look up at it with half-dead eyes.

It had no face, but you got the strangest feeling it was staring at you. Or maybe you were attributing logical reactions to an illogical situation to ease your own mind. It wasn't as if any of this made sense in the first place, so the way you tried to comprehend it shouldn't have mattered.

The creature stopped in front of you and you wondered if you would soon discover what it had done to your friend. Perhaps it would show you a worse fate. Maybe you would get lucky and wake up with a start next to the firepit after having drunk so much you passed out. It didn't matter. You were too tired to question what happened next.

The creature again became as still as a statue, but this time, because you had finally given up on escape and were listening to the world around you rather than your own thoughts, you could hear a faint humming. It was a terrible sound, like screaming, but it sounded familiar. Not in the sense that you'd heard it before, but in the same sense that a child remembered how its mother starved while she was pregnant. It was a sound carved into your ancestors' DNA and passed down to you through generations of unspoken trauma.

And it was that same trauma that forced your eyes to look forward at the creature rather than darting your pupils to confirm the movement you were seeing in your periphery. If you didn’t acknowledge that it wasn't the only one here, that others were digging themselves out of the earth around you, maybe you could lie to yourself a little longer and pretend you would be alright.

Or, you could pretend until the hands holding your body in place joined the many clawing their way out of the ground and encircled you. Now it wasn't just the singular creature in front of you but a small herd of them surrounding you on all sides.

The leader – the original one – hummed again and the others hummed in turn. The creatures holding onto you, in perfect unison, went from pinning you in place to picking up your tired body and holding you above the ground for their leader's perusal.

You were too exhausted after fighting for so long to care about how exposed you were. It was just one more short lived humiliation before you were finally killed by these things. If you were lucky, maybe they would tear you apart so that whoever found you would consider you a murder victim rather than some weird pervert who went gallivanting around campsites without your clothing. It would at least be closer to the truth than any random passerby would know.

But as they held you, skillfully flipped you over so that you were seated in their embrace and facing their leader, there was a shocking lack of hostility. If anything, the creatures seemed to be quite gentle as they moved you according to their unknowable whims.

They all hummed, and the creatures holding onto your legs spread them apart. Even with all your efforts to keep your legs together, they were stronger.

The leader stepped forward and stood motionlessly between your legs, only interrupted by a tilt of its head that reminded you of a confused dog. The thought of it delaying whatever its plans were because of confusion made you chuckle quietly. Or maybe you were laughing because there was nothing better to do.

The creature reached for its crotch – or what the equivalent of it was, at least– as smooth and bare as a plastic doll, while it continued to stare at you. As it ran its soft, ridged fingers over the blank surface, you could see something growing just below its touch.

When it moved away its hand, you could see that it was no longer sexless. Nestled between its legs was what you could only compare to a dick, alabaster and long and thick. It was the kind of beast people claimed to want when they were fucking around with their friends, but made them wary to see in real life. Except this creature wasn't human and the thing that looked like a dick was worse than a beast. 

It leaked. Not in the way a pretty cock did when it was excited, but the entire length leaked. It reminded you of the sticky white liquid that seeped out of a plant stem when it was cut, except this was pouring out in thick globs across the entire shaft.

The leader rested its thick cock, cool and sticky and slimy, against your sex, like it was comparing its work against your own.

You tried, and failed, to jerk your limbs away again so you could break free. "Get the fuck off of me!"

None of the creatures reacted to your attempt. Instead, one of them slipped two of their fingers (if you could even call the thick  appendages that) so far into your mouth that they tickled the back of your throat. It tasted of dirt, death, and decay so profusely that it made you gag.

You closed your eyes as pain assaulted you. Tears welled up and spilled over as your jaw was stretched and held open by the thing holding you in place, pain growing and festering in the corners of your mouth where the flesh was pulled taut. 

Then you felt something pinching against the entrance of your ass and your eyes flew open again.

That creature, that bipedal fungus, pressed its faux cock against the ring of muscles fighting to keep it out, forcibly prying you open – with the help of the liquid it leaked that seemed to loosen you up – as it pushed forward without a care or concern. And you screamed. Around the fingers still shoved down your throat, you screamed. You screamed in fear. You screamed in disgust. You screamed in anger. You screamed because of the pain of its cock tearing through your ass. You screamed as it bottomed out inside of you, so deep that you could feel it in your guts. You screamed when its hips pulled back, taking with it globs of that slimy stuff that had leaked into your ass during its assault. And you screamed when it did it all again.

It was fucking you.

The sloppy, brutal pace of its thrusts tore you open, the slick fluid dripping out of its cock only helping it keep its pace without catching or stuttering. It was animalistic on the surface, but there was something pragmatic and mechanical about the way it moved. Like it was mimicking something it had seen once upon a time rather than any real passion.

The group of creatures holding on to you hummed and bent your spine. As your back arched and they leaned you backward, you finally noticed that another creature had been standing behind you, and this one was as well endowed as the one already buried in your ass.

Every muscle in your body tightened as fear rippled through you, especially as the fingers in your mouth somehow stretched even further and left your jaw wide open so the creature could force its dick down your throat as the fingers absconded. The way it violated your mouth was distressingly similar to the way your ass was being fucked, almost like the two were moving in a synchronized rhythm. The taste of the goo dripping from its cock was salty, slightly rich in the same way as meat, and thick on your tongue. It was like you were drowning.

Something inside of you clenched, wound tight like a spring before it snapped, like you were about to come around the foul cocks of these things… but their movement stopped right before you tipped over the edge.

Relief washed over you as you felt the one buried in your ass pulling out. You could feel your hole still gaping and sore from the assault, but you were glad that it was over…

Until you felt another one, one you were sure was different from the other, take its place. 

As both of their rhythms fell into line again, you closed your eyes, trying to will away the pain and attempting to drift off somewhere else. Somewhere you were safe. Somewhere with your friend alive and well. Somewhere else that wasn’t here.

#h2ho #a cool drink of water #collab'oween #tw noncon #tw multiple partners

[letstalktea]

Parasite

Content: Tav x The Emperor, endgame spoilers, mild angst, smut referenced but not shown

Word Count: 1.4k

Where did they end and the parasite wriggling just behind their eye begin? They had been asking themselves that question a lot lately, especially after the worm had stopped moving and the only thing left to remember their adventure by was some deeply seeded trauma that had fundamentally changed who they were. Their companions had been freed from both the parasite and their own past – as much as they could be, anyway – but Tav was still left staring straight into the endless sky, at the glittering star dust of the Astral plane through the empty eye sockets of a long decayed skull. Even knowing the Netherbrain was gone, this was the only place they felt completely safe anymore.

"You've come again."

Tav turned their head to stare at the grand illithid floating beside them, seemingly appearing from nowhere but knowing he must have sensed them coming.

"You did too."

The Emperor wasn't a prisoner of the prism anymore now that the brain that tried to control him was no longer around, so being here was a choice rather than a strategy. Or maybe there was still some strategic element to his presence. 

"I find myself curious as to why you keep coming back here. Did I not make myself clear that we have no further reason to associate in this capacity?" 

"You did." They sat up and leaned back on their palms. "And yet, here you are. Curiouser and curiouser. If I didn't know better, I'd think you missed me."

"You are allowed to think whatever you want, as illogical and irrational as it is."

"I would appreciate it if you at least pretended. I miss when you tried to play on my mortal emotions. It was nice to live the lie that you cared about me as more than just a tool."

"I have no reason to cater to that charade anymore." 

"Please? For old time's sake?" They patted the space beside them as they stared up at him.

He didn't move.

They shrugged. "I tried."

Then they burst into laughter. "I can't believe I used to think you actually cared about me. A mind flayer caring about some random mortal? Preposterous! You probably thought I was a joke. Was I at least a funny joke? Tell me you were at least laughing while I played your fool."

"I don't find your bouts of mania amusing." 

They stood up with a deranged look in their eyes, practically shouting as they approached him. "Then was it at least entertaining to play with me as I fell for you? Is that why you offered to spend the night with me? Was it your grand finale to make me trust you and ensure I would do whatever you wanted when the time came? Was I the only one who cared?"

"You already know the answer." He said with a flat affect.

"Right," they muttered. "I wish I didn't. It's unnerving how easily I can hear your thoughts these days."

"You made that choice when you accepted the tadpole."

"Nah. What I did was less like choosing and more like picking the only option that made sense." They clumsily held up three fingers and counted their list of grievances. "I couldn't trust you, wouldn't betray you, and wanted to save my home. I made the only logical decision."

"Because even after I attempted to manipulate you and opened my mind, you did not trust me."

"You were always a liar, especially in your own head. That's what the worm in my head was saying and it turns out it was right. Even now I suspect you are trying to lie in whatever way lets you win this little tête-à-tête because you don't like me picking at your presumably perfect plan, even after it's long since unneeded."

"You misunderstand." He finally floated downward and allowed his feet to touch the ground so he was standing in front of them. "I am pleased by your decision not to trust whatever honeyed words others may speak to you. I am frustrated that you suspect me of such things however. Have I not proven myself your ally even now?"

"You've proven that you still find me useful and are willing to work in our common interests. Although, I wouldn't mind if you wanted to prove that your continued presence in my life has a deeper meaning." 

They reached out their hand to wrap around one of the tentacles hanging from his face, recalling how they'd done it the night they'd spent together; the moans they didn't know he could make as they kissed their way up each one, the frantic heat as they tore at his clothing even knowing he didn't have human anatomy because they wanted to know his body, their giddy joy and laughter as their body lifted into the air for the first time and the giggles as they tried to figure out how hovering was supposed to work, the way they leaned against him and let him use his own mortal memories to pleasure them until they came on his fingers– Then they saw how their fingers looked wrapped around his tentacle and quickly withdrew.

His gaze was unwavering, but there was an understanding – real or fabricated they couldn't tell, but they chose to believe it was genuine. "You'll find such desires dissipate over time."

"I know." They had already reached that point. They simply liked to pretend there was still more of their original personality left than really was. It was distressing how quickly the person they were fell away.

It was disconcerting how easily they understood his motivation for playing on their fickle mortal emotions and even more so how they could imagine doing the same thing, if need be. Now, however, their emotions and reasoning weren't so malleable by pleasantries. Now they could hear his genuine thoughts and have an inkling as to what machinations ran through his head. Their favorite was the small corner of his mind that called them such pretty things like divine or exquisite before those stray thoughts were buried beneath every other logical one. It was nice to hear someone think they were still beautiful when every other voice usually screamed at their mere existence.

"Are you finished with your delusions?" The Emperor asked.

They waved him off with a thought as the illusionary world – the one they'd conjured in their head so many times lately as their mortality began to slip further and further away – began to dissolve around them and give way to the reality of the cellar they made a serviceable home in. 

"I would appreciate some understanding and sympathy for my current situation."

"I understand that you have become a greater existence than you previously were, so sympathy is unneeded."

If they could have, Tav would have rolled their eyes. Instead they simply rose into the air so they were hovering just barely above their fellow illithid. "How anyone believed you to be a human man with that dismissive attitude, I will never understand." 

The Emperor followed their lead, rising into the air so his gaze was level with theirs.

They turned away from him, choosing not to delve into his thoughts or accusations about the hypocrisy in thinking others foolish for believing his deception when they themselves had fallen for his ruse until they saw the tentacles on his face and him pleading for aid.

"I'm hungry," Tav said, trying to ignore how that comment and its implications weren't unnerving in the least to them, not like it had been when they had first transformed and devoured the brain straight out of an exiled prince's skull.

No. Instead the most disturbing thought in their head, the one they tried to push aside using what little of their mortal morality remained intact, was the creeping desire to have a tadpole or two of their own. It felt natural as an illithid to want an entire colony at their disposal. Nevermind that they were not an Elder Brain with that kind of power nor did they have a desire to become the very thing they defeated, but they did have an itching for power and control that surpassed their conscious mind.

If that desire was loud enough to slip through their carefully maintained demeanor for The Emperor to hear, he at least had the decency not to say anything. That, or he was formulating a new plan to either support their twisted desire or find his next ponzi to be their undoing once the last of their mortality finally gave way to illithid motivations.

#h2ho #a cool drink of water #collab'oween #balders gate 3

[letstalktea]

Pet Zombie

Content: afab!Grima!Robin (they/them) x Risen King!Chrom, dubcon, emotionless sex, ntr(?), angst

Word Count: 2k

There was beauty in the way crimson flames licked the endlessly smoke dyed sky. The perfume of blood and the melody of the enemies’ lamentations as their cities were razed to the ground was an art form few could appreciate in full. Not like Robin could. Not like Grima could. Though, to be fair, there was hardly a distinction between the two since the day Robin came into their birthright as a vessel. The poor thing’s spirit had broken so thoroughly that what few pieces remained were being strangled by Grima’s own will. And that was, after all, for the best. Robin was born to be Grima’s flesh, not their morality or their conscience.

But, still, the flesh remembered and those tiny shards of Robin that remained longed. And, if Robin – if Grima – wanted something, then it would be theirs. Even if only so they could use it to completely destroy what remained of their other halves' rebellious nature.

The hot air around them, that of smoldering homes, smelled of ash and charred flesh, the taste of it lingering on their tongue as they breathed it in. They overlooked their work with an artist’s eye, standing above it all with rapture. Then, a sigh of contentment at the world they had wrought; a world that was theirs to undo.

“I wish you were here, Forneus,��� they said to a long departed ghost. “If only so I could see your terrified face once more.”

It was a shame he had to die for his betrayal, but it was only far too human to be unable to see the beauty in the end. That’s why Grima didn’t need any humans as the world came crashing down; only their loyal Risen who understood the perfect nothingness the world was heading toward.

And in their chest they felt a stirring; a slight pang as they saw the devastation and weeped.

The poor thing was fighting again, despite how fractured it already was.

Grima took little joy in destroying what was, in essence, a speck of themselves, but they would much rather cleave away an infected limb before the rot spread throughout their body than risk letting it atrophy and decay into a stump. And the sharpest knife with which to cut was that which Robin longed for.

They stared forward into the jumping fires that consumed buildings and bodies alike and raised their voice. "Attend to me."

It was a concise order directed toward only one of their many death-embraced soldiers.

From the flames, the shadow of a figure began to come into view. His broad sword was laced with fresh blood the same color as his eyes, his silver armor clinking with every step, and his royal blue hair glowing against the backdrop of the ruination he'd directed in their name. He was their once enemy turned knight; Robin's compatriot made pet; a king turned butcher.

He was Chrom and he kneeled before Grima with reverence. 

They held their hand out to him as a master did to their lesser. "Serve."

He took their gloved hand and rolled it down their wrist without a word. There was no emotion, not even disgust, as they allowed his hands, cold and grey, to peel away their clothing was part of the plan. Every action was a calculated display to bring the disparate part of themselves back into line, not something done out of desire or malice. It was an act of service in their name.

First the robes, then the belts that held their padded armor in place, ending with the padding itself. Each article of clothing fell onto the barren ground one after another, until the only thing adorning them was the faint glow of the still burning embers of the town he'd ruined at their command.

And now, as his pale lips ghosted over their hot skin, he served them in a different way. They allowed him to kiss their stomach, to trail his way upward until he was at their breasts and running his tongue over them in a way that demonstrated he was moving only on muscle memory.

They allowed him this small bit of his former humanity, this miniscule knowledge of pleasure and how to give it, if only so they did not have to lead him through every action when they did not care for it outside of its function to keep their other half in line. If not for his use as a tool towards that end, they would have left him dead and rotting at The Dragon's Table. As far as tools went, however, this one had proven its value time and time again. Both as a leash to keep Robin suppressed and a blade to cut down the very humans he'd once attempted to protect from their own impulses.

As Chrom let fragments of memories turned instinct guide him, he wordlessly nipped and sucked at their breasts. They had the feeling that he would have said something if he had still been human enough to have such things to say. Perhaps something sweet that would make their – Robin’s – heart flutter. Although, judging by the small spark of devotion in his eyes that seemed to gaze straight past Grima themselves, it was fair to say that there was enough of a memory left in that empty skull of his to have desires of his own. Desires that bordered on heretical given that Robin and Grima were one and the same, and it was a crime to lust after one’s master with the eyes he did.

His lips were chilly as he crawled up their skin, especially when compared to the heat of the flames nearby. He reached the junction of their shoulder, trailed over their neck, and, as he rose once more, Grima stopped him before he could dare to kiss them. They placed their hand against his face, pushing him away with a grimace on their face.

“Do not overestimate your position.” It appeared the memories he was allowed to act upon went deep. Good. Memories that ran deep would also cut just as deeply. “Ready yourself and lie down.”

Like gravity, he was pulled back to the ground. This time though, he was not disrobing them but himself. Slowly but surely, he pulled off each metal metal plate, or at least the ones that needed to be. He discarded them haphazardly in the same place he had theirs and did as they commanded. He lied down. He rested his naked body against the ground and stared upward at his master. Grima would almost be disgusted that he was already hard, but that was the purpose of allowing him such human follies. It kept them from having to invest more than necessary in ensuring their tool was sharp.

They stood over him, perfect and powerful and domineering. Then, they engulfed him. With the body that they had stolen, they sat atop him with their knees on either side of his hips and their head held high. It was domination made flesh. A pose that Grima could see in their – Robin's– memories in which a stranger turned friend turned confidante lovingly put the beloved exalt of Ylisse in his place. Beneath them where he belonged. At least Grima could agree with their vessel on that front.

That memory was as stolen as their body; a voyeuristic view of what humans considered to be a happy moment. A glimpse into the life of another that would only ever serve to remind Grima of how foolish humans truly were. As much as Grima was, in some sense of the word, grateful to their other half for being born to host them, they would always be disgusted by their humanity. The same humanity they could feel Robin fighting for at the corner of their shared mind.

Robin clawed, tore, and screamed for Grima to leave this memory alone, to not spit on the shards of the humanity they were so desperately clinging to. They wailed and sobbed weakly to not have it be perverted by the destruction that Grima had carried out with their hands and the ghost of someone so precious to them. 

But Grima did not have sympathy for an infected limb.

Which is why they allowed Robin the tiniest amount of control. It was better to give Robin the rope with which to hang themselves rather than wasting their own limitless power to do the same. It would barely be a fraction of their consciousness , but it would be enough to ensure Robin truly got a taste of what they wanted.

They bent at the waist, leaning over the used-to-be man beneath them. Their white hair fell around his face, a mockery of a curtain between them and the world as they – as Robin and Robin alone – were allowed to view what remained of their partner. He was there in body, but the heartbeat had stilled and the spirit had been subsumed by the will all Risen share; the one given by Grima to see all life snuffed out just as his had been.

Robin, weak and tired inside their own body, wept. The small part of them that hadn't yet been broken and shattered wept softly, tears falling down onto Chrom's face below, even as they smiled at seeing their partner again. It was a complicated smile, joyous to once again see their partner and melancholic to know neither of them was the person they wanted to be.

Their fingers moved slowly, fighting for any amount of control they could against Grima's overpowering will, as they laid their fingers against his cheek. 

"Hi." It was all Robin's shattered consciousness could say.

Chrom had no reaction beneath them. He was, after all, ordered to serve. To not be anything more than the tool Grima made of him.

And it was that exact distance that further fractured what little of Robin's own psyche was still left struggling beneath Grima's oppressive will. The constant, agonizing realization that, no matter what they tried, no matter how often they broke free for a brief moment, no matter how much they reenacted the motions their body remembered, it would never be exactly what they longed for. The world they had built up, the life they had seized after they managed to flee once before, the people who mattered most to them and who they promised eternity to, none of it would return to them. No matter how much they longed for a different reality, this was the one they were confronted with.

And that confrontation would destroy them bit by bit until what little of them was left either vanished completely or decided this world was too cruel to let survive. Either way, Grima would win.

For now, however, it left them tired. Robin shirked back into the recesses of the mind that was once solely theirs, unable to continue watching the consequences of what it meant for them to have been born Grima's perfect vessel and lover of their enemy. 

The distinction between the two was growing weaker and weaker by the day, however. So, as a way for Grima to celebrate the cruel surgery to control the rotting limb they called Robin, they took what it was they – or, potentially a part of Robin that was finally beginning to see events their way– wanted. It was growing difficult to tell whose desires truly guided each action anymore.

They rolled their hips against his emotionlessly, allowing their body to indulge in pleasures that their mind couldn’t care less about. After all, Robin's– perhaps Grima's or both's– longing still needed to be quenched. The only difference was that Robin longed for a man long dead and gone while Grima longed for the obedient pet he had become.

#h2ho #a cool drink of water #collab'oween #nsft post #fire emblem smut #chrom smut

[angrelysimpping]

Sacrifice: Collab'oween Day 17

GN!Reader x GN!Tentacle Entity

Warnings: tentacles!; abduction; drugging; ritual sacrifice

Words: 2473

In the grand scheme of things, your town was only as important as a speck of flea shit. A proof of existence, but not much else. Not even the creature itself, but the waste of it. The waste of a blood sucking parasite. Yeah, that was your town.

Oh sure, you had lived there your whole life but, really, that wasn’t your fault. If you could, you’d have left ages ago. But you couldn’t. You’d been stuck, frustratingly and completely. For as long as you could remember, you’d been working towards a way out, scratching out an existence that was tolerable enough to justify staying alive. 

Tiny little place, you’re not even sure how it survives. And you don’t care. Soon, you’ll finally escape this backwater town. There’s no reason to stay, the only thing keeping you back is a lack of funds. 

Not even family kept you tied here.

Who knows where your parents had fucked off too, if they were even still alive. They’d gone out one night and just…never came back. That had been lovely to deal with at the tender age of 6. Shuffled from person to person, dealing with the name calling on the school yard. They called you “lucky” for getting to stay in your hometown, with your “community.” Yeah, no. You hated it, hated everything about it. 

The “small town” branding that got pushed so goddamn hard. The old biddies that clucked their tongues and asked how you were holding up, words soft and caring yet judgment shining in their eyes as they raked over your body looking for anything they deemed “strange.” The way everyone expected you to still morn over your parent’s sudden leaving, as if they didn’t fucking abandon you, as if you even remembered them. God, you hated it all.

That didn’t matter anymore, though. Soon, soon, you’ll leave. By the time the new year rolls around, you’ll be out of this festering shit hole of a town. You’ll be free. 

It’s Halloween now. A few more months of planning, that’s all that’s left. A few more months before everything is in place and you can leave.

Or, that’s how things should have gone.

The knock at the door makes you jump, popcorn spilling onto the floor. Laughing lightly at your own nerves, you pause the old horror movie you’d been watching. Well, more like staring the vague direction of as you thought of how nice your new life will be away from here. Shaking your head, you exchange your metal bowl of popcorn for another bowl. Garish orange plastic bowl with black bats dotted around the body and full to the brim with candy. Best bowl you owned, in your opinion. Yeah, you hated this place, but you weren’t some grinch that would forsake some kids their deserved Halloween treats just because they were as unlucky as you to be born here.

In your haste, you don’t notice the time: well past when any normal trick or treaters would visit.

Brisk October air rushes in as you open the door, swirling around your feet, a few stray leaves managing to sneak inside. Your wide smile freezes into place, the practiced “Happy Halloween” dying on your tongue. 

No children dawned your doorstep. No happy trick or treaters with bright eyes. No harried parents. No, none of that. A group of stone faced men look back at you. Dimly, you recognize some of them. A man from the convenience store you liked to stop by after work for a snack, a guy who goes to the coffee shop at the same time as you. But, most of them you’ve never seen before in your life. 

You don’t have time to dwell on how odd it is to see unfamiliar faces in this tiny town as the group rushes forward, pushing past you and into your home. 

“Hey-!”

Your shout cuts off as you’re forced down to the floor, bowl of candy knocked out of your hands and sending the treats flying. Thrashing, you yell again, a wordless scream of fear and rage. It doesn’t matter. Firm hands latch onto your arms and shoulders, keeping you down. Wrenching up, you don’t get far before you’re slammed back down, pain blooming in your skull as your head bounces off the carpet.

Funny, you’d always liked the carpet here. Soft, easy enough to clean. Once upon a time, you’d thought of it as cozy. That was before your dead end job and the dying town embittered you to even the smallest of joys. That’s what you think of as your consciousness falters, drifts off. This tiny home you’d made for yourself, your first step towards getting yourself out of town and to better things, now maybe witness to your first steps out of this life. 

-

A low groan leaves you as your consciousness slowly starts to filter back. Your cheek presses against something rough, body curled in on itself, arms throbbing with discomfort bordering on pain. Muffled voices surround you, hair on the back of your neck prickling as you catch the murmured sound of your name. 

You recognize that voice, but you can’t place how. It takes you a moment, brain sluggish. Vague scraps of it in your memory, on the tv, on the radio, before it clicks. No wonder you struggled, you’d never spoken to the owner. What reason would you have to speak to the mayor, after all? 

Eyes fluttering open, you find yourself lying on the floor of an unfamiliar room. Coarse rug scraping your face, you attempt to move only to find your arms bound behind your back, legs tied at your ankles and knees. 

“Finally, you’re awake.” 

The mayor himself kneels next to you, a warm smile on his face that he’d always wear in his television interviews you instinctively flipped past. Funny, you’re not sure you even remember his name. Q…something? Maybe? You’re not sure. You haven't paid attention to the town’s politics in ages. You didn’t need to if you were leaving, right?

“About time. Was starting to think that maybe they’d been too rough in…collecting you.”

His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. The longer you look at him, the less natural it seems. But maybe that had something to do with the strange clothes he was wearing, something out of a b-horror movie. Dark red robs, a golden sash around his waist, ornate silver mask on his head, ready to be pulled down. All of it juxtaposed harshly with how the robe was open enough for you to see he was wearing normal clothes underneath. Dress shirt and slacks that wouldn’t be out of place in an office setting, really.

There are others in the room, standing around you and the Mayor, dressed similarly. For a moment, you think it’s some elaborate prank. Why else would this be happening? Why else would these people be dressed like that? Some god awful prank or surreal dream. One of the two.

The dull ache in your body tells you otherwise, head throbbing from where it had connected with the floor during your abduction. 

“You know,” the mayor says, snapping you out of your thoughts and bringing your attention back to him, “people don’t wanna stay in small places like this.” There’s an unspoken element, a snide “people like you” left unsaid as he stares you down with that same creepy smile. “They leave, the money goes, the town crumbles to dust.” He makes a small motion with his hand, mimicking an explosion, the town turning to dust you assume, and someone laughs lightly behind you. “Well, we can’t have that, can we? Would…” he falters for a moment, smile dimming a fraction before growing wide again, “would make something mighty upset.” Another small laugh, this time from someone closer to your feet. “This ensures that everyone is nice and happy.”

He pulls his mask down, covering his face, and steps back into the circle of people around you. For a moment, you try to speak. The mayor’s words weren’t lost on you, the something catching your attention and making your skin prickle. But your tongue is too thick in your mouth, and nothing comes out besides a wheezing whine.

That’s when the chanting begins. The language is strange, unfamiliar to you. Every time you try to concentrate on their words, try to see if you can even vaguely recognize it, a blaring pain shoots through your head, making your very gums ache. Worse still, your body locks into place as they chant. Words slide off your brain, not a single thing sticking long enough for you to even hope to remember and look up later.

If there was a later. 

Every town had their rumors. In your experience, small towns had more than most. Every year you’d hear the same one. School yard tales that would keep you up at night in your youth, jumping at every sound. Whispers at your fist shitty part-time retail job, checking out customers at the local grocery store, little old ladies giving each other knowing looks over the apples in produce.

But they were just that, rumors. Tales. Nothing real.

Or, so you’d thought. 

Whispers in the dark of people disappearing every couple of years, never to be seen again, followed by a sudden burst in tourist traffic. Gawkers fascinated with the “simple life.” Folk fawning over handmade candies and the bright turning of the leaves. A revitalization of the community that you found annoying to deal with, but not something bought on by morbid rumors. 

You’d thought nothing more of it. Maybe you should have. If you had, maybe you’d notice some truth to it all. The disappearances that were never talked about, loners with no family, no connections. People who wanted to leave, who left no impact when they did slip away in the night. 

People like you.

It’s only a brief flash of understanding, that this was what fueled the rumors, before a loud scraping of metal against metal scatters your thoughts and splits the rhythmic chanting of the group. Purple tinged light fills the room that you have to squint against, refusing to fully close your eyes in such a fucked up situation. Nose scrunching, you’re assaulted with the scent of sulfur, a strange undercurrent of jasmine coiling through the room. 

As the chanting stops, you’re able to move, and you take full advantage of that. Or, as much as you could. You writhe, only proving to tighten your bonds, but you do manage to flip onto your back. Above you a pulsating slit stretches out and widens. A rip in the very fabric of reality splitting open, called forth by the group around you.

“Shame,” the mayor says as a long, thick tentacle unfurls from the portal. Glancing away from the horror before you, you see a hard outline pressing against his trousers. “Would have quite liked it if it came through this time.”

You don’t get time to question his words before the tentacle wraps around your midsection, lifting you up effortlessly and bringing you back through the rip in the universe. 

Being pulled through the portal feels like jumping into a pool, a cool pressure all over your body. Unlike being submerged in water, you can still breathe, though the air is just as chilly and you’re sure you’d be able to see your breath if you exhaled. If you could see at all, that was. Everything is dark, a pure true blackness that leaves your eyes straining to catch any scrap of light.

Nothing. Nothing at all. The chill fades and all you’re left is the feeling of the tentacle secured around your middle. 

Squirming in its grip doesn’t help. It might even be the reason more tentacles join the first. They curl around you, slipping under your clothes. Skin smooth and cool, it’s almost a pleasant sensation. That doesn’t stop you from thrashing, trying to jerk away from every touch as the limb around your middle tightens.

One tentacle curls around your throat, and your movements become more frantic, whine building in the back of your throat. Yet, the appendage doesn’t squeeze around your neck like you assumed it would, instead a tapered tip pressing against your skin. It’s an almost imperceivable prick, barely anything at all. Less intrusive than any shot you’d ever received, yet you recognize it all the same. You’ve been injected with something. 

The panic in you swells, only to quell almost instantly. The thought of being injected with some mystery substance…doesn't bother you, actually. Warmth seeps through your body as you relax, muscles loosen, the need to fight fading away as the tentacles squirm excitedly over you. 

They find your bindings and the ropes snap with ease. With your limbs freed, you stretch, languid motion that allows the tentacles better access to your body. You hardly notice your clothes as they’re ripped away, mind hazy as you let out a delirious giggle. 

The tentacles explore freely, seeking out every inch of skin to touch and taste. One of them prods at your entrance, and you attempt to spread your legs to help accommodate it, movements blunt and clumsy. Laughter sounds around you, thrums through your body as a lazy smile graces your lips. You let out another little giggle as the tip squirms against your hole. 

Electricity tingles up your spine as you're slowly pressed into, back arching in the loving grasp of the tentacle that stays wrapped around your middle. It curls inside you, pressing deliciously against your nerves and a moan escapes you, a loud, lewd noise that hardly feels like it belongs to you at all. Moving deeper inside you, searching for every hidden spot, you couldn't keep quiet if you even tried as you’re fucked open. 

A tentacle squirms up over your body, sliding across your chest and over your nipples, and twists around your jaw. It’s thinner than the one thrusting between your legs, but you still gag slightly when it slides into your mouth. 

As it curls against your tongue, you groan, reveling in the way it quivers against you. There’s a certain delight in its action, a sense of approval in the air as you relax your throat for the tentacle in your mouth.

It’s not a sound, though that’s the best way your brain understands it. A deep, thrumming that reverberates in your bones, in your soul. Something from the being holding you, fucking you. The owner of the tentacle, of this space, of the deal with the leaders of the town you don’t even remember anymore. A wordless voice telling you not to worry as your guts get rearranged, fitted to its needs and whims. 

Nothing to worry about, nothing to think about. Nothing to do but surrender to pleasure.

#collaboween #tw tentacles #cw tentacles #tw abduction #cw abduction #tw drugging #cw drugging #tw ritual sacrifice #cw ritual sacrifice #gn reader

[angrelysimpping]

The (Night) Hunter: Collab'oween Day 25

Night Hunter x AFAB Reagent (they/them pronouns) 

the only prompt that wasn't mine that i actually got a chance to write for ><"

Warnings: noncon; anal; piss; weird ear stuff (thanks inky); mentioned wound fucking; violence; off screen character death (two reagents enter the trial and…..its questionable if even one leaves, actually); he’s huntin’; mentioned cum eating; a lot of crying; set in program three

Words: 2239

“Run! Hide!” He laughs as the pair scamper back around the corner, sound bouncing off the tiled walls of the orphanage bathroom. “Make this fun for me.” 

He lets them get a head start, smile curling across his lipless face, before taking off after them. The two have already made it through the laundry room, but they’re not fast enough. No one ever is. One of them makes it out of the room by just a hair before he enters. So close he can almost smell them, stale clean Murkoff soap and the metallic stench of fear. 

They won’t make it to the courtyard.

They don’t even try.

The utility room is empty, doors untouched.

Hiding vermin, like rats.

“Oh, sure is dark in here.” He shuts the door behind him, the gas trap re-setting with a soft twang as he giggles. “What a shame.”

The air is dead still, almost unsettling silence. It lays thick on his skin, an oppressive blanket that would make anyone else squirm. 

Not him, though.

“You can’t hide,” he half sighed, half sung. With heavy, sure strides, he makes his way across the room. “You sure can’t hide.” A soft, stifled sound - a sob - from under the desk. “From the man with the x-ray eyes.” 

He reaches under the desk without warning, grabbing a fist full of hair and yanks. The fucker screams, sound mixing with his harsh laughter as he flings them across the room. 

A man. He stares up with wide, unseeing eyes, night vision goggles knocked from his face. He’s dazed, sprawled out on the floor. 

Glorious sight, the fear, the fucking terror.

“I’m gonna watch you bleed.” Almost delicately, he nestles the tip of his machete between the man’s thighs. Like any caught vermin, he tries to squirm back, but there’s nowhere to go, breath stuttering as he presses the blade against groin. “And then I’m gonna watch you die.”

The brick hits him in the face. 

He topples to the floor with a thud, metal scraping against concrete as he tries and fails to keep his equipment from taking any damage. A whoop of delight echoing around the room as he crashes.  

“LITTLE SHIT!”  

Spitting out a mouthful of blood, he’s back on his fleet in a flash. He’s up faster than they expected. He can tell from the way they freeze, smile dropping and breath hitching as he lunges for them and, for a second, they seem to shine brighter for him than before.

The other little cunt running around in the dark, trying to save their dumb friend. 

“That fucking hurt!” 

Hand clamping around their forearm, they squeak, wrenching back. But his grip is iron, holding on as they scramble towards the light, the courtyard, safe haven from his x-ray eyes. 

“No you don’t, slippery little glow worm.”

But they do, near falling into the light and dragging him along.

“Shit!” 

Those damned lights were too much. Blinding, burning his eyes, scorching out his brain with their intensity. He couldn’t even blink thanks to the way those doctor fucks had made his goggles. ‘Great bird of prey,’ bah.

They don’t get far, stumbling, panic blinding them nearly as complete as the light blinds him. A desperate attempt to vault a crate is their folly as he fights to drag them back. 

And it’s so easy to pin them over the edge of the crate. 

“Got ya now, shiny worm.”

They writhe under him, bucking and twisting. Any other time, he’d gut them with his machete and move on. But, they’re squirming, their ass grinding against his dick, and god when was the last time he-

The whine of the gas trap triggering scatters his thoughts. Muffled thud of the spike impaling flesh, panicked sobs. Ah, the man from under the desk, the one they were trying to protect. 

Now getting gassed out of their mind, having opted to run away instead of help.

“Looks like your little friend tried to sneak away.” Idly, he rocks his hips forward, letting them feel how hard their struggles made him. “Gonna just be you,” he grips his machete tight, bringing the tip to the hem of their pants. They freeze, a whimper building in their throat as he takes his time, cool metal kissing their skin. Hooking the blade into the ragged material, the cloth all but falls apart on contact. “And me,” he finishes, wild giggle bubbling up from his chest as their pathetic attempts to escape redouble. 

“Aw, little glow worm, what’s with all the fuss?” With practiced hands, unseeing, he drags the waistband of his pants down, freeing his aching erection. They still again as his cock caresses the curve of their ass, hot and hard, before a small sob leaves them. “Oh, wanna play nice now, do ya?” 

A broken, moaned no that he barely hears, too enthralled by grinding against their ass. Shifting his hips just enough, his cock angles down, sliding between sweat slicked thighs and-

“Ah, feels like you’re wet, like your cunt is starved for-fuck off!”

He should have expected the kick. Little fucker had put up a hell of a fight, much more than he’d ever expected from such a feeble looking worm. Why would they have stopped now? Just roll over and give up because he’d slid between their lips? Become a silent, submissive little pup because his tip had bumped into their clit? 

No, and they wouldn't be nearly half as fun if they had.

Before they can kick out again, he grabs them by the back of their head, dirty nails digging into their scalp as he yanks them back. “Do that again,” his tongue lulls out from his destroyed mouth, hot muscle trailing up the side of their neck, “and I’ll take you apart piece by piece.” Caressing the shell of their ear, they squirm, but not there’s not as much fight as before. “Even those bastards won’t be able to put you back together again.” They go stiff as his tongue wiggles into their ear canal, a small sound of discomfort escaping them. 

But, they don’t move.

Not even as he withdraws his tongue, gnarled teeth catching on their earlobe. Steadily adding pressure, they shudder under him, but they don’t try to squirm away like before. 

"Good mousy."

Blinded still, he nearly impales their hand as he embeds his machete into the crate, a pathetic hiccuped whimper making his dick jump. Another tiny giggle leaves him as he press their head down with one hand, grabs their hip with the other, and starts to rut against them. 

They don't move, don't try to stop him as precum smears against their skin. Good enough for him. He can't see their eyes dart around the courtyard, a group of white coated "doctors," or whatever they liked to call themselves, gathered at an observation window. 

He wouldn't have cared if he had. Might have even gone on to put on more of a show, even. But, no, not right now, not this time. Right now, all he can think about, all he can care about, is the warm body beneath him. Of their soft grunts, their attempts to keep quiet and not attract any other attention. Of the way their body responds, even if they don't want it to, slick gathering on his cock, precum mixing with his own and making his movements easier. 

Of the tight hole that the head of his cock catches against as he repositions himself.

They stiffen under him, rigid as he slows his thrusts, grinding the tip of his dick against the spot where their body fights to keep him out. “What we got here, huh?” 

“D-don’t.” Their voice is so soft he almost doesn't hear it, lost in his heavy breathing and the buzzing of the lights. “N-not…not there. Don’t. P-please.”

“Not here?” He presses forward a fraction of an amount, fat head pressing against the tight ring of muscles. Their breath catches in their throat, and he can almost taste their desperation, thick like battery acid on his tongue. “Maybe if you'd been a good lil mouse from the start,” he pants, reveling in how their body is slowly succumbing to his will even as they beg for him to stop, “I’d be able to find the right hole.” 

“Go back. W-we can g-go back. Into the d-dark.” Their voice is higher pitched than before, all broken, stuttered words and pleading tone. Not the same little shit who had the gall to smash his face in with a brick only moments ago. “I w-won’t r-run.” He can hear their suppressed sobs, leans down to swipe his tongue over their cheek. Salt, tears and sweat. They shudder as his tongue traces the curve of their neck, tucking his face into the joint between their neck and shoulder. Inhaling deep, he catches the same scent as before, chemicals and fear and, under it all, the faint trace of their own scent. 

Delicious. 

He doesn’t say anything, and maybe they know the answer from the way he smiles into their skin. They sob as his cock slowly pries open their rim, losing the fight to keep him out. 

He can’t help himself after that, glorious tight heat enveloping him. Hips jerking forward, they scream as he impales their ass in one brutal thrust. Friction almost painful, he laughs into their neck, wild giggles and labored breaths as he starts to pull out. They’re still screaming, sound no longer ringing in his ears as much as before but still a persistent annoyance as he snaps forward again. 

“Might wanna shut your yap, mousy,” he growls, teeth scraping over the tender skin of their neck, tongue flicking out to swipe over a pulse point. “Unless you want Goosberry to give you a new hole for me to fuck.” 

They move, twisting under him. For a second, his hand goes for his machete, before they settle again. He can’t see them, can only feel them: tight around his cock, trembling back against his chest around his battery, wild hartbeat against his teeth, surprisingly soft skin of their hip in his scarred palm, head still pressed down and forcing their cheek against the harsh wood. He doesn’t know how they’ve moved to bite into their forearm, dampening the sounds of their sobs and screams as he starts another torturously slow withdrawal. But he notices the muffled sounds, their attempt, their promptness at his threat.

The cackle he lets out almost rivals their initial scream as he’d forced them open. 

“Good mousy.” Punctuating the sentence with a particularly brutal thrust, he’s greeted with the smell of bleach. 

He stays buried deep as a hot gush of liquid splashes against his thighs. His grins grows even wider, biting down into their shoulder lightly, almost teasingly, as he rocked forward, making sure his cock pressed hard against their insides as they pissed themself. 

“Ay, watch the equipment.” 

They only sob harder into their arm, body shaking and burning as he abandoned his slow, deliberate tempo and starts a punishing pace, fucking them into the rough suerface of the crate. “Filthy little thing, aren’t you?” The words are murmured into their skin where he keeps his face shielded from the light. If they respond, he doesn’t hear it, his own harsh breath loud in his ears as he pistons into them. It’s easier now, lewd squelch every time he slams home and the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the courtyard. “You bleeding sweetheart? Helping me fuck this ass open?” Another stifled sound of misery, and his cock twitches dangerously. “Bet it’d taste good. Wouldn’t have to carve you out with my tongue either. Loosened your ass up real good, wouldn't be able to keep it in, would ya? Messy little mousy I caught, huh?” 

Their mouth leaves their arm. He can tell instantly, their sobs unfettered, copper tang of blood on their breath as they turn as much as they can to face him. 

“P-please.” It’s a pathetic little whine, almost lost amongst sobs and broken up by the force of his hips meeting their’s. There’s a buzzing in his brain, balls tightening. “J-j-just cum. Please.”

Electricity races up his spine, and he rips out of them. Letting go of their hip, he takes his cock in hand, blood and precum smeared along the shaft and coating his palm as he pumps himself to completion. A small hiccup escapes them as his hot seed paints their abused ass. 

“Don’t worry,” he pants, his own voice sounding harsh in his own ears, heavy with his accent and a barely restrained smile. “Don’t worry little mouse, my little glow worm.” They stiffen as his thumb hooks into their puffy asshole, tormenting the already tender muscles. “You were begging for me to fill you up, weren’t you nasty little worm.” They try to push back against him, try to scramble away, but their entire body shakes at the effort. Another one of his wild giggles escapes him as they collapse back against the crate. 

That must be when they feel it, how he’s already hard again, leaking new precum against their thighs. It’s in the air, the renewed fear, the electric iron taste on his tongue. 

Slipping his thumb free, he lines himself up, can feel their hole fluttering against the tip of his dick, begging for him to fill it again.

#collaboween #night hunter #outlast #outlast trials #tw noncon #tw piss #tw ear stuff #tw gross #HES *GROSS* #afab character #afab reagent #tw wound fucking #mentioned/threatened but tagged just in case #cw noncon #cw piss #cw ear stuff #cw gross

[angrelysimpping]

Pet Zombie: Collab'oween Day 7 Bonus

Unnamed Man (tho it was written with the idea of being 💜@inkyquince ‘s💜 vtm PC, Zacarie de Fay uwu) (he/him) x GN!Zombie (they/them)

Warnings: undead; kinda implied that he’s gonna stick his dick in a zombie; implied past relationship; manipulation; dubcon; mild pet play; slapping

Words: 663

The scream is guttural, inhuman, and exactly what he wanted to hear as his darling pet thrashes against the bindings he’d secured them in. 

“There’s no use struggling, you know.” 

They don’t answer. He’s not sure they could answer. Once upon a time they’d spoken in full, if labored, sentences. Mostly cursing him, threatening to rip out his throat and rend him limb from limb. Not so much anymore. The last few weeks had only been growls and groans.

Until now.

They lunge forward again, bindings creaking as they try in vain to free themselves, to reach the meat he had placed just out of their reach. Another blood curdling screech rips from their throat, and he laughs.

“Becoming a zombie hasn’t much helped your intelligence, huh?”

Their eyes find his, wild and unfocused. Or, their gaze bores into the place where they think his eyes must be, hidden behind dark glasses. 

“Poor dear,” he coos, mocking clear as day even to the undead. Reaching out, he cups their face with a gloved hand, thumb caressing their cheekbone. Carefully, he slips a digit under the strap of leather securing their muzzle in place, flexing his finger to give it a quick test of strength. It’s the only thing they’re really wearing. What use did a zombie have for clothes? “Poor silly fool,” he coos again, smiling as they growl.  If they were more docile, he might have slipped the muzzle from their face, tucked his gloved thumb into the gash ripping open their jaw. Of course, they weren’t. 

The crack of the slap echos in the room, his cool smile still present as their head naps to the side. If they still lived, their cheek would already be turning red. As it was, they stopped growling, turning back to look at him. Their eyes seem to grow clearer and his grin widens. “Oh, are you here? Can you see me again?” 

They jerk towards him, teeth snapping as they try to bite him even muzzled. He moves back, laughter bouncing around the small room he designed just for these little play sessions with his pet. 

Running a gloved hand through perfectly styled blond hair, the smile drops. If a living person has witnessed it, they'd find the shift disturbing. But, there isn't. Just his dear zombie.  “Are you conscious in there, pet?”

They surge forward, bindings creaking but holding true. 

“Think you remember how to do your tricks, pup?” 

The zombie stills at the pet name, breathing becoming heavy as some recognition comes into their eyes.

“Oh, you do, don’t you?” He reaches behind him for the chair pushed into the corner, pulling it out and into the zombie's range of movement. It was a dangerous thing he was about to do, but one he was addicted to. This creature that, when he took care of it properly, would scream obscenities. Who would have taken pleasure in hunting him down and consuming his flesh, now reduced to its bassist instincts. Willing to do exactly what he wanted, debase themselves however he wished. Malleable, in a way. Just what he wanted.

Besides, no risk, no reward.

Sitting, he leans back, legs spread in a silent command. They hesitate, but only for a moment, shuffling forward. 

“Good pup,” he hums in approval, deftly unbuckling the clasp of his belt. If this was a perfect world, he’d have them doing this. Would have them kneeling at his feet, face pressed against his thigh. Heel, paw, tongue, present. A simple routine. Heel at his feet. Give him their hand. Stick out their tongue, letting him press down on it with a gloved thumb. Present…present. Would they ever get to that stage. He’d thought so at one point, but things had backslid with the whole…zombification. 

They gaze at him with hard eyes, breath ragged. Hate and hunger mixed together, reluctant obedience as they waited for their next command. 

Well, they’d get back to that point of Present eventually. 

#collaboween #others ocs #sorta kinda #tw zombies #cw zombie #tw dubcon #cw dubcon